


if that road leads to nowhere (find your way back home)

by civillove



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 16:25:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 77,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/civillove/pseuds/civillove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Road trips always sound a lot better than they actually are. Stiles, Lydia, Allison, Isaac and Scott take a long weekend to travel up to a cabin that Stiles’ family owns; thinking that time away from Beacon Hills and the supernatural drama that goes along with it might be a good idea. But it turns out that you can’t run away from everything. While Scott and Isaac try to keep their relationship a secret from the rest of their friends, Scott deals with his blossoming friendship with Allison and Isaac tries to squash the paranoid sensation that the cabin is being stalked and deal with the constant battle inside of himself as he remains in a frustrating gray area with Scott.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> Time stamp: This is after the events of 3x05 and 3x06. It goes AU from there. The ‘is Derek alive or not’ is not really touched on because it’s not at the center of this fic. 
> 
> Notes: The rating will go up and down; I’m keeping it a solid NC-17 in general because sexual themes occur. This is my very first scisaac fic, thank you for reading and alkfjsdlkfj I’m so nervous? I hope you like it so far!

 

Isaac has always enjoyed thunderstorms. He has never been able to thank his dad for many things but his fondness of booming thunder and crashing light, water pelting against his house with the reverberating sound of golf balls is something he can actually attribute to the older male. It started out as something when he was younger, when bad storms would roll in making his tiny frame, not yet lanky and long, shake and shudder. His mother and father would pull him into their laps and his mother would hold him to her chest, her voice vibrating against his back, humming as she sang to calm him down.

“Don’t worry bumble bee,” She would tell him, “People in heaven are just bowling strikes.”

He used to smile and ask about his grandparents, mentioning the shoes that reminded him of clown shoes and bowling balls. He never brought up that analogy again after his mother died.

His father turned thunderstorms into something different, warped, but not intentionally. In the end they were far more useful than his mother had ever made them. On some particularly bad nights, when his father was in the peak of his drunken outbursts, sometimes it would rain. Isaac used to think the weather was almost a product of what he went through, that the clouds somehow felt sorry for him. Then he realized how ridiculous that sounded. The echoes of pounding thunder reminding him of his heartbeat and the scraping wind and the downpour of rain were easy sounds to get lost in. They blocked out his father tripping up the stairs, of bottles and glass breaking, of harsh words spitting against his skin.

Sometimes he even thought of his mother bowling.

But the picture in his mind’s eye always faded after the freezer lid closed.

He greedily thinks that life with Derek would have been better. After the bite, things were going to change. He’d no longer be that scared kid with bruises painted purple and black on his eye or sides, no longer the taste of blood in his mouth or marring his skin. Turns out, being a werewolf is a lot like being human. The cuts and bruises still happen but fade on the outside, burn on the inside, never really healing even though he’s physically fine. He swears he can still feel the ache and pinch of where Allison had stabbed him with those Chinese Ring daggers in his back or the paper cut sensation of glass digging into his scalp and cheeks from when Derek threw that glass at his head.

The one thing he has never really realized until that moment was that all he had done was traded in one abusive home for another.

Not directly, anyways, but it was still a good comparison. Derek is a great alpha, someone Isaac will always be grateful towards; he completely changed his life with just one bite. Something he easily could have died from, (and granted, he still can—the looming thought of an alpha pack hanging in the back of his mind, always, like a persistent raincloud) but at least, he thinks, it won’t be at the hands of his father. So yeah, he’s grateful. But with every ounce of good hidden beneath sarcastic banter and grunts of approval, there is a darker side to the alpha that Isaac doesn’t understand even though he’s tried. There are warped intentions and hints of misplaced selfishness, there’s hurt and a permanent ache of emotionally raw wounds. Derek doesn’t tell him things and he can’t distinguish if it’s because he’s a beta and doesn’t deserve to know his alpha’s reasoning (he has his blind faith anyways) or if he’s trying to protect him in a way.

It takes a glass thrown at his head for Isaac to make his mind up.

He doesn’t know what home really feels like until he’s living at the McCall household. (He can still feel his clothes seeping into the pores of his body from the rain, the shivers running down his spine from shock and from the cold, Scott’s warm eyes, Mrs. McCall’s worried expression and confusion, sympathy with its sickeningly sweet stench stinging the back of his nostrils, rolling off her shoulders in waves).

He swears it would just be for the night but one night turns into two, and into four, and into Mrs. McCall getting the guest bedroom made up for him, into Scott insisting he stay, until he just gives up insisting that he’ll be out of there the next morning. He still feels on edge sometimes, like Scott and his mother will one day give Isaac this look like they’re wondering when he’ll find somewhere else to squat or when Derek will take him back—but he’s slowly falling into the feeling that that day won’t come. That he’s finally found something _good_.

And now he just has to concentrate on not screwing it up.

Isaac feels safe at the McCall household—it smells like fresh laundry detergent, coffee and nearly always has the lingering scent of pancakes. There’s somewhere where he can go and actually call it home, where he can let his guard down. It has a roof, and four walls, and Mrs. McCall insisting that he calls her Melissa and reminds him to do his homework. And most importantly, it has Scott.

He thought it would be weird, staying with the other wolf that he had just started to get to know, to gain confidence in slowly considering Scott as his actual friend. But in all actuality, the only thing that he’s weirded out by is how _not_ weird it is. There’s this rhythm between them, this rapport, which had started the minute he asked Scott for that favor.  The heightened werewolf senses probably don’t hurt but it’s like they can sense what the other needs and how to help, a mixture of counting heartbeats, sensing emotions, and spending so much time with one another.

Isaac knows when Scott is frustrated, can smell the acidity like sweat seeping out of his pores, knows that simply squeezing his hand or poking him directly in a ticklish spot on his side until a smile breaks through without Scott’s consent usually helps. Scott knows when Isaac is upset; because he’s never been one to say it in so many words but it’s not like it’s hard to hide from another werewolf either. The first time he has a nightmare he wakes up screaming, tangled in sheets, sweat soaking the collar of his white t-shirt. He was lying on Scott’s floor because the guest room hadn’t been done yet and it was bad enough that he not only woke up the other male easily but he also woke up Mrs. McCall. He must have apologized to her a thousand times until Scott told him to stop, because he didn’t need to, because her smile was kind and she offered to make him hot chocolate and because Scott had drew him into his arms and squeezed him until he had stopped shaking.

 He’s never been one to accept touches so openly, something he can thank his father for, but Scott’s palms were warm, his muscles hard and his skin soft and Isaac had let him pull him into his bed, under the covers. He lets him do it every night after that when a nightmare visits him, grips him with claws, tears at his skin, and refuses to let him go even after memories of harsh words and freezers have long disappeared.

Isaac blames the touching and closeness on a pack mentality until Scott kisses him.

It had been one night after a particularly bad nightmare, where Isaac couldn’t keep the tears from pooling against his eyelashes and trailing down his cheeks. Scott’s fingers were warm against his face, padding the tears away, his forehead resting against his own. His body is still wracked with shivers, regardless of Scott’s legs tangled with his and his one arm wrapped around his waist; he thinks it’s an accident at first, the brush of their lips tingling with electricity until he smells it.

Want.

Tangy hints wrapped up in hesitance. He hates the feeling in his lower belly when they had pulled apart. Isaac’s thoughts had finally caught up with his mouth and he had been kissing him back.

Scott smiled at him like he had the sun stashed away in his mouth. He remembers that smile because he swears it’s burned into the back of his eyes, like the black fuzzy shape that appears in dots when you stare at the sun too long and then look away.

He wasn’t really sure what it all meant, he’s _still_ not sure and it’s been a month weeks since that first incident, if he could call it that. Isaac has never tried to really put himself into a label before, never tried to identify himself under a list of characteristics. He’d talked to Erica about it once and her slow smile with bright red lipstick had been terrifying and reassuring all at once. Her makeup and tight corsets may have added to about ninety-percent of her bravado but beneath that he knew she was looking out for him, that she was trying to help when she said “don’t worry about it and just _feel_ ”.

He wishes he could have thanked her for that advice. He never thought that he wouldn’t be able to one day. He misses her more than anything sometimes when he wants someone to talk to about how he feels, especially when it comes to Scott.

Especially, after three months of letting themselves grow closer and not to mention kiss while leading to other things, when he finds out that the omega doesn’t want to tell anyone about them yet. ‘Them’ like they have an actual classification to use.

Isaac thinks he gets it, or at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself. Since it’s new for the both of them it makes sense to see where it leads before divulging their business.  They’ve got too much to worry about between school and the alpha pack for an unstable and undefined ‘relationship’ tainting everyone’s minds. Derek wouldn’t approve for obvious reasons, tension thick like blocks of cinder weighing between him and Scott for ages now. It never changes, the weight just shifts back and forth, and not telling the alpha just makes sense.

He’s not sure why no one has noticed something is different between them; their dynamic has changed even though it’s subtle. They have eyes on one another when in a crowd of people, they sit closer to one another, their hands brush and secret smiles are shared and Scott _smells_ like him and he’s certain that _he_ smells like Scott. It’s an easy product of living with one another…but it’s also because Isaac spends as much time as he can lying against Scott’s body, feeling him breathe into his ribcage, his skin melting into his, his hands traveling the dips and curves of the other’s muscles.

He thinks Peter knows. Just because it seems like the elder alpha is out of the loop because he came back from the dead with less control and power doesn’t mean he’s not perceptive. He notices subtle shifts, he studies them, so it wouldn’t surprise Isaac if he knew. Boyd and Lydia are indifferent; at least he’s pretty sure. He pays attention enough to know that neither of them makes it their life mission to hone in on what he’s doing or trying to distinguish how he feels.

Stiles found out on accident. Though, if anyone, Isaac guesses that he would be the first to notice something was different between them just for the sheer fact that Stiles knew Scott so well. And for the fact that he may have walked onto them making out on Scott’s bed. So if that wasn’t a red flag he’s not sure what else they could have done.

There’s this hesitance though coming from Scott that is so potent it leaves a sharp acidic taste in the back of his mouth when he’s around Allison. Isaac wonders if Scott doesn’t want to tell everyone yet or if it’s just the gorgeous ex who he had a ton of chemistry with (and who also tried to kill him indirectly) that he’s really concerned about. Isaac likes to pretend he understands where Scott is coming from because it eases the ache in his chest and the rolling sick sensation in his stomach a bit. He’s not ready and the last thing he wants to do is push something that doesn’t even have a title yet because it’s warm and it’s _good_ and Isaac always has a tendency to ruin anything good in his life so—

he waits it out.

He lets Scott decide when he’s ready.

In the mean time he tries to avoid Allison, because she smells like vanilla and a woodsy scent that reminds him of pines and _Scott_. He’s not sure why, residual impressions in her skin from when they were together, he guesses, but he doesn’t like it. The wolf inside him _definitely_ doesn’t like it, the urge to claim Scott as his own and mark him and have himself as the only person who smells like Scott is frighteningly strong.

So avoiding Allison should have been really easy—if he hadn’t agreed to a long weekend road trip to get away from the insanity of Beacon Hills and the ominous threat of death that keeps smacking them in the face from this alpha pack.

Stiles arranges the whole thing, the small group packing into his jeep to head to a small cabin a few hours away from Beacon Hills. It’s a great idea, one Scott couldn’t say no to and one Isaac couldn’t deny either after the other pleaded to him with those bambi brown eyes. It was offensive, to say the least. He doesn’t regret giving in until he’s jammed into the backseat of Stiles’ jeep with Scott in the middle and Allison on his other side while Lydia argues with Stiles that he’s going seventy in an eighty mile speed zone.

Isaac feels like the odd man out even though he knows he’s not, Scott _wanted_ him to come. But part of him wishes that Boyd wasn’t busy with his mom for this short lived vacation so he could have came with them.

“We should probably stop for gas soon anyways,” Allison pipes up from her position against the window, interrupting Stiles and Lydia for a fraction of a second. “And find somewhere to spend the night.”

“You mean you don’t want to spend the rest of the night watching World War III in the front seat?” Scott asks her with a slow smile, leaning his body towards her to whisper it but it’s heard throughout the small space anyways.

Stiles makes an indignant sound, stating that wars have been started on smaller things and Isaac feels a pang of _something_ shoot up his spine as Allison turns her head to look over at Scott and gives him a smile that he knows is just for him.

They might be broken up but chemistry and history are two things that never go away in a relationship as strong as theirs had been. Isaac licks his lips, tries to settle down a feeling like someone is reaching inside of him and squeezing his organs, hates himself because he knows Scott must feel it too. Can probably taste the jealousy it’s so palpable at this point.

It’s probably very immature of him (actually, it’s a lot immature) but he finds himself hating Allison a little bit. Their relationship just seems so simple, if you strip away the fact that her family has tried to kill Scott on more than one occasion, the static electricity between them is undeniable. Scott shifts in his seat, briefly, and settles his bag that he brought to straddle on Isaac’s thigh and his own before he feels it. The other’s hand discreetly slides against his under the bag between their legs and laces their fingers. His heartbeat slows, his pulse gently taps in his wrist, he calms—

and now he hates Scott for having such an easy effect on him.

It’s not that he doesn’t admire the other wolf for wanting to take whatever this is slow and steady but if he has to listen to Allison’s heart beat stumble like rocks skipping across water every time Scott talks to her he’s not going to make it.

Isaac nods his head at the notion of stopping soon when Stiles asks the rest of the car, except Lydia, what they would like to do for the night. And a bed sounds just like something he’d be interested in; he feels like a giant in a doll house in the back of this jeep, wisps of his hair keep sliding against the roof everytime he shifts to get into a more comfortable position.

His limbs creak and crack, his body settling back into itself as everyone piles out of the jeep when Stiles parks it in a gas station parking lot. It’s small and dark and he thinks if he wasn’t a werewolf he’d definitely be getting some strange vibes from most of the truckers heading into the 24 / 7 diner across the street.

“We should eat.” Stiles nods his head towards the diner. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.” Lydia grumbles but doesn’t protest to the idea, smoothing the palms of her hands against her skirt which is wrinkled from sitting in the jeep for so long.

“This well oiled machine doesn’t just run on ambition and sarcasm.” Stiles points out, motioning to his body with his hands.

Allison smirks and glances over at Scott before gently bumping her shoulder into his and the group starts over but they’re barely in the parking lot of the diner before Isaac can feel his skin shift, ripple against his bones and muscle. The wolf snarls inside of him, teeth bearing to scrape against his nerve endings. He tries to bite it back because this is ridiculous; he has no right to be possessive—but the wolf obviously disagrees. Scott was with Allison first and it’s not like they’re an established _anything_ and they might never be. But that doesn’t change the fact that he wants to claim him all the same.

 He tries to reason with himself that it _must_ be a pack thing, a wolf itching to protect its own. Because even though Scott and Allison had been in love doesn’t cancel out that she had been on the opposite side when the battle lines were drawn between Gerard and the pack, and that she could easily find herself there again it came down to family.

“Do we have Advil back at the jeep?” He asks as they reach the diner door and Stiles digs in his jeans pockets when Allison says she thinks she has some in the bottom of her bag on the floor in the backseat.

He’s backtracking the moment the metal jingle of the keys meet the warmth of his palm, his shoes kicking up pebbles and dirt as he crosses the street back to the jeep. His eyes are flashing gold, he can feel his claws scrape against the paint on Stiles’ jeep as he leans against the passenger door, squeezing his eyes shut as he just breathes—

tries to get the wolf to back down, a whining growl building up from the bottom of his throat, his heartbeat throbbing in his ears.

The thunder rumbling in the distance helps, it draws him back, his claws metaphorically anchor onto something tangible—he thinks about his father, before his mother disappeared, he thinks about nights when it rained, the four of them (him, his dad, mom and Camden) gathering in the living room to build forts, when being enclosed in small spaces didn’t scare the shit out of him.

Warmth, stability, comfort; there’s a sense of trustfulness, security. He feels _safe_.

His muscles contract and relax; it no longer feels like lava is being poured into his joints and his bones.

Isaac thinks about Scott. Thinks about the warmth of his arms, the sharp lines of his body, the honey like complexion of his skin. He thinks about how much he trusts him and how much it means to be trusted back. He thinks about the coffee ground color of his eyes and the roughness of the pads of his fingers.

He’s never realized that home doesn’t have to be a place, necessarily, but that it can easily reside in a person.

And _that_ grounds him; his claws detract, his eyes return to that smoky blue color and his heartbeat stills compared to the ravenous pounding that was occurring moments before. He runs a hand over his face and lifts his head up from where it had been resting against the jeep to unlock the door when he sees someone behind him in the reflection of the glass.

He turns around sharply and Scott is smiling at him with that smile that makes Isaac feel like he reached into the sky and harnessed the sun. It makes his stomach flutter in weird sorts of ways that he can’t name or grasp with his fingertips.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on a werewolf.”

Scott smirks and takes a tentative step forward as Isaac opens the jeep door. “Come on, you knew I was there the whole time.”

Actually, he hadn’t, seeing as how he had been dealing with his unwarranted jealousy and the claws that had come with it.

“How bout it’s still not nice to sneak up on people in general?” Isaac looks over his shoulder and flashes him a small smile before giving his attention back to the task at hand to look through Allison’s bag for the Advil.

Scott hums from behind him and a moment later Isaac feels one of his hands slide up the spine of his back, fingers trailing along vertebra after vertebra.

“Are you okay?” He asks after a moment, Isaac still fishing through Allison’s bag and, seriously, how many tubes of mascara did a girl need? When he doesn’t answer the shorter’s question Scott takes that as a sign he should continue. “You just seemed tense on the whole ride up here—”

“Well,” Isaac pulls his hand out of the bag and leans against the jeep as he turns to look at Scott. “If you hadn’t noticed I was crammed into the backseat. You’re sort of…short, Scott.”

Scott laughs, it’s the type of laugh that fills up his entire chest and projects outward, a sound that makes the edges of Isaac’s mouth quirk into an instant smile. “I am _not_ short; you’re just…freakishly tall.” His hand moves to slide down his side and he hooks his fingers through Isaac’s belt hoops, tugging him forward into his chest.

Isaac smiles slowly as his eyes flicker to Scott’s lips, their foreheads brushing, the omega’s breath skittering across the skin of his cheeks and jawline. “My height never seems to be a worthy topic for debate when we’re doing this,” He gently presses his lips against Scott’s, the warmth from his body seeming to seep into his from the simplest of touches.

The shorter nips at his lower lip before pressing up into the kiss, his toes pushing himself up a little so that he makes up for the height difference. “Definitely perfect for when we’re doing this.” He grins and then silences any further discussion with a kiss.

It’s slow and deliberate and there’s a steady crackling heat that reminds Isaac of a fire burning through the muscles of his lower belly as their lips move together. The tension fades from his shoulders and regardless of how odd it sounds his body _melts_ into Scott’s embrace and neither of them pulls back until proper oxygen is needed, small puffs of air blossoming against each other’s mouths when they manage to stop kissing.

When they’re pretty much breathing the same air a million thoughts flash through Isaac’s mind, they bounce off one other and hit against his synapses. One of them is about Allison; he’s not sure how she could just let someone like Scott go.  Because now that he has him, he’s almost certain he wouldn’t be able to make a decision like that. He’s hoping he never has to and that thought rams against his rationale as to why he thinks Allison is still in love with Scott. Because she never stopped and it’s honestly as simple as that.

“Is the storm bothering you?” Scott asks a moment later, his hand coming up to trace the outline of Isaac’s jaw before pulling his body back a little and breaking Isaac’s thought process.

A storm? Right; he can hear the boom of thunder in the distance, quickly approaching, can feel the moisture in the air, a storm.

He gives Scott a small smile and shrugs his one shoulder, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck because…what is he supposed to say? No? It’s your ex _girlfriend_ bothering me and not the impending thunderstorm?

“Sort of.”

And at least that’s not a complete lie—not that he thinks Scott takes extra time to pay attention to his heartbeats but it’s easy to pick up on irregularities, especially when werewolf hearing is involved.

He gets ready to elaborate, figuring it will help more than hinder, but Scott is naturally three steps ahead of him. “I really understand why dogs have that flight response when they hear fireworks because thunder is just as bad for sensitive hearing.”

Isaac just nods because, yeah exactly, that’s what he’s trying to say and Scott always seems to know what he’s reaching for but can never seem to just grasp with words and syllables.

‘The first storm I heard when I was a werewolf,” He shakes his head, eyes wide. It makes Isaac chuckle softly. “I thought my head was going to pop off with how loud the thunder was.”

He finally locates the pill box at the bottom of Allison’s bag and pulls it out, shaking it in Scott’s direction. “Just a headache from the noise, this will do the trick.” He assures him because the other wolf looks like he needs to be reassured about something but Isaac’s not sure what.

Scott opens his mouth to say something but then decides against it, shaking his head with a small smile before a rush of air leaves his nose. He settles for kissing Isaac on his forehead instead and sticking his hands in his pockets.

“They have blueberry waffles at the diner, want to share?”

The question is so simple and innocent but it makes Isaac’s heart speed up anyways and the moment Scott hears it he tilts his head and smiles at him, which doesn’t exactly help in changing the tempo.

“Your heart sped up.” He teases, taking his hand when Isaac closes the jeep door and joins him on the walk back to the diner.

“I just like waffles.” Isaac winks at him, smirking and enjoys the sensations of their palms smashed together because he knows they’ll have to let one another go by the time they reach the door.

“Waffles are the _best_.” Scott beams while squeezing his hand.

Isaac just laughs and has to agree because, yeah, they really are.

 


	2. Drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of the kudos, opinions and kind words about my first chapter. Here is chapter 2! I really appreciate all the feedback and bookmarks, I was really nervous about posting this fic, so thanks for making me feel welcome in the scisaac fic community :3 enjoy!

They spend the night at some seedy motel with a blinking vacancy sign, fake palm trees around the entrance to the parking lot and plastic flamingos lining the grass as decoratively as possible along the first row of rooms facing away from the front desk office. It’s only a few miles away from the diner and after eating everyone is tired from full bellies, traveling all day and with the looming prospect of another day of driving ahead of them. Isaac has managed to drift on and off on the drive to the motel, his head resting against Scott’s shoulder as Stiles argues with Lydia that there is only one great batman and that had been Michael Keaton. Scott discretely presses a kiss to the side of Isaac’s head when he’s sure no one is looking in the dark atmosphere of the car…and then proceeds to do it again after he hears the other’s heartbeat skip to inform him that he’s not asleep.

Isaac lifts his head when Stiles parks the car, smiling softly at Scott before running his fingers through his curls. He yawns, glancing around at the motel which is painted a bright pink that would probably hurt his eyes with direct sunlight on it.

“Well, look, at least they have a pool…so you can catch STDS via water.” Stiles admits dryly, turning the engine off.

Lydia rolls her eyes. “You didn’t want to travel the extra miles to reach the Motel 6.” She glances outside the window and looks up at the blinking sign of the motel: LOST PARADISE and then mutters about how a place that looks like this should remain lost.

“It’s just for one night.” Allison insists, opening the jeep to crawl out and grabbing her bag on the ground to hoist over her shoulder. “We should talk about sleeping arrangements.”

Before he can even utter the suggestion of guys in one room and girls in another (and if he should have to bunk up with Scott then so be it) Lydia and Allison share this look when the redhead gets out of the jeep that he can only describe as a undisclosed girl conversation that as a guy he will never understand.

“I’ll stay with Stiles.” Lydia informs the small group when they’re all standing at the trunk of the jeep. And there it is, one simple look translated into English.

Stiles opens and closes his mouth once and then twice, like he can’t honestly believe he didn’t have to manhandle the situation to convince Lydia to sleep in the same room with him.

“Oh,” Allison glances at Scott like she had no idea this strange occurrence of events was going to occur. Isaac can feel his nails digging into the palms of his hands as he stands to the side, shifting on his feet. “Well, I suppose Scott and I can stay together in a room. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Scott laughs, rather awkwardly and glances at Isaac, then to Stiles who is rubbing the back of his neck like he can see the thought bubbles above everyone’s heads. “I don’t…I don’t think that’s—”

“That’s perfect.” Lydia interrupts; smiling like her favorite store is giving her a discount on half the merchandise. “You two can catch up…talk.”

“Catch up? What do they have to catch up on? They both seem pretty up to date on the fact that there’s an alpha pack trying to maim and mu _rd_ —” Stiles’ sentence is cut off with a sharp yelp when Lydia steps on his foot.

Scott shifts on his feet. “But…Isaac would have to—”

“Room by himself,” He guesses he shouldn’t be surprised Lydia seems to have everything all figured out. “He’s not five years old, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind, would you Isaac?”

Isaac’s stomach clenches painfully, an uncomfortable pulling sensation starting at his rib cage, like someone is reaching inside his chest and yanking down on the bone. He clears his throat and shrugs his one shoulder, tries to stop picking up on Stilinski’s sympathy that is rolling towards his nose even though he can’t see the expression plainly on his face. His hands are tied, there’s nothing he can really say to object to the notion of staying alone—or the fact that he doesn’t want Scott to sleep in the same room, let alone the same bed, as his ex. He knows there’s unresolved issues there, feelings left unsaid, thoughts unexpressed and open wounds to heal—and honestly, what is he supposed to _say_? He and Scott hold hands sometimes, sometimes they kiss, other times they do everything that isn’t kissing, sometimes they feel a lot like something even though they’re more like nothing. Scott and Allison though? _That_ is something.

He licks his lips and nods his head towards the trunk of the jeep and Stiles opens it easily; he tries to remain indifferent, like it doesn’t matter, like he doesn’t have eyes on him trying to figure out what he’s going to say before he says it. He can feel Scott’s especially, right against the side of his head, damn near boring holes into his brain.

“No of course not,” He smiles softly at Allison before reaching inside the trunk of the jeep to grab his bag. “Why would I mind?”

He avoids Scott’s gaze as the group starts towards the front desk office to book their rooms for the night.

0o0o00o0o

He’s slept in worse places before.

He used to camp outside in his yard with his brother when they were younger almost every Sunday during the summer and the ground, yet filled with grass, was always hard and lumpy against his back. He fell asleep on his kitchen floor once waiting for the evitable moment when Santa would tiptoe through his living room to deliver presents on Christmas Eve. He’s fallen asleep in many positions in the back of a car, he’s slept on the cold metal of the subway train that was once Derek’s hideout, he’s slept on the floor at the McCall household until Mrs. McCall insisted that that was no way to sleep (and that he’d ruin his back) and he’s fallen asleep confined in a freezer, his knees nearly tucked up to his chin when his father would forget to unlock and unhinge the lid.

Honestly, a motel with dirty sheets (he was _trying_ not to pick up on all the scents he could detect just from the fabric alone), a creaky mattress and paper thin walls are not the worst things he’s had to deal with in terms of sleep.

But sleep doesn’t come easily and for Isaac that’s sort of new. Even with the impending onslaught of nightmares that usually press into him like a building falling down on his chest, suffocating him, he usually has no trouble falling asleep. Sleeping soundly and getting back to sleep after a nightmare is one thing but the initial drifting off is seamless.

He lies in bed for what feels like hours, car horns blaring in the distance, rain finally falling and pounding against the pavement, lights shining from  street lamps against the cream colored ceilings, his hearing strained and picking up breathing, whispers and moans, pulses stuttering and the sound of the walls settling. Isaac tries to convince himself that he’s not searching for anything specific, that he’s just trying to fall asleep and sometimes the sounds soothe him in a way he can’t explain, the noise hugging his body and frayed nerves but he finds that he’s looking for one voice in particular. One voice that’s down the hall and six doors away. Scott’s voice.

But he can’t find it; it’s lost in the mixture of sounds. Either that or Scott isn’t talking. He’s not sure which is worse.

He selfishly wants to know what he and Allison needed to talk about, if they actually got as far as to tell one another things they’d been keeping close to the chest, or whether they danced around it and said nothing instead. He wants to know if whatever it is that he and Scott are doing is still, well, _something_. He wants to know if Allison changed his mind; Isaac wants to know if he’s lost something good.

Something he doesn’t really deserve in the first place.

He eventually does fall asleep, his eardrums vibrating with the _drip drip drip_ of the rain sliding off the gutter into the pavement outside his window and the heartbeats of the surrounding rooms.

0o0o0o0

His nightmares always start out differently but end relatively the same way.

He’s cold. His body is shaking from pain, exposed nerves, and a bitter bite to the air around him that reminds Isaac of getting stuck in a snow drift absolutely naked. He’s confined, his joints crack and moan as he tries to stretch but finds that he can’t, he can’t press against the four walls. He’s heartbreakingly human, his body hurts, he’s not healing, his blood is dripping into ice. The bones of his spine feel like they’re stabbing him through muscle and through his ribcage from the awkward angle of his lanky body against the wall and floor of the freezer. He scratches but he doesn’t know why he bothers and then the worst settles in, his stomach drops and panic seizes his sternum, ice as real as the frost surrounding him sitting in his veins, blood runs cold. What if he doesn’t get out this time? What if this is really it?

He can’t breathe.

Isaac pounds on the lid of the freezer and screams; he knows it’s useless, knows no one can hear him, knows no one will listen. No one ever listens. Not his aunt who lives in San Francisco, who’s gotten many calls from Isaac just asking her to help, not his teachers who see bruises all over his face or watch him limp out of their class, not his mother watching from heaven and certainly not God.

No, he must have given up on Isaac a long time ago. And part of him doesn’t blame the abandonment.

Just when the final breath seems to leave his lips, when he doesn’t think he can take one more lungful in, that’s when he wakes up. He jolts up in bed, chest aching with the realization that he _can_ breathe, that there’s more than enough oxygen to keep him company.  He’s soaked to the bone with sweat, the collar of his shirt sticking uncomfortably to the back of his neck as he runs his hands over his face and through his damp curls. Isaac feels like he shouldn’t be surprised when he hears a gentle rapping on the door, can recognize the slow and steady heartbeat a mile away but he’s still unsteady from his nightmare, he’s shaking and his legs feel like jello as he gets up to answer it. He takes a deep breath before clearing his throat, opening the door to see Scott standing there.

He’s not sure how long they’ve been apart, he has no idea how much sleep he’s actually gotten between getting to his room and when his head hit the pillow. He wants to know what time it is but he figures it must be late because Scott looks sleepy, like he’s just woken up from a deep REM cycle. His eyebrows furrow, he can’t figure out what the shorter is doing here, but he guesses he can’t exactly complain when Scott looks so _good_. He hates how simple Scott is, how it doesn’t take much for Isaac to be completely thrown off balance by him. He’s dressed in sweatpants and a maroon colored t-shirt that has wrinkles from being slept in, his eyes are warm like honey but tired and his hair is a mess from his pillow.

Isaac’s stomach flutters and the wolf inside him snarls at such a weak sensation before he clears his throat and bites his lower lip. “What are you doing here?”

“Trouble in Paradise?” Scott asks, a soft smile pulling at the ends of his mouth like an invisible string. The joke isn’t lost on Isaac, seeing as how they’re stuck in this glorified shit hole ironically called Lost Paradise but he can’t find the energy in him to smile.

Isaac shifts in his spot and rubs the back of his neck, looking past Scott to see it’s stopped raining.

“I could hear your heartbeat all the way down the hall,” Scott then says, admitting the real reason why he’s standing outside of Isaac’s door. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Isaac answers, all too quickly. Scott probably wouldn’t have believed him anyways but now the sharpness in his voice gives him away easily.

Scott knows, it’s clear in those brown eyes. It’s not like this is the first nightmare Isaac has had around the other wolf but it’s still something embarrassing all the same, still something he feels like he has to keep to himself. Keep private.

“It’s okay,” Scott says softly, stepping forward to…he thinks touch him but his fingers flex and remain at his side. “Everyone has nightmares; you know it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

He almost hates the sincerity in his voice, how sweet he is, how _good_ he is with him. Isaac bites his tongue hard on saying something he might regret and says instead, “How’s Allison?” It comes out a lot harsher than he intended but it’s better than snapping at him to mind his business and not to worry about him in terms of his nightmares.

Scott cares far too much, it’s a quality that Isaac admires and finds suffocating all at the same time. It’s comforting to know that when he feels like he might have no one who actually gives a shit about him that Scott is there, and that he cares. That he does it far too easily and far too often. But at the same time Isaac wants to shake him because while it might be inherent for him to care about everyone it’s also unrealistic. He sets himself up for disappointment, for hurt. One of the best and worst things about Scott is that he’s got a hero complex, because no matter how much he may want to, he _can’t_ save everyone.

Scott clears his throat and glances down the hall, like Allison may pop up out of nowhere when she realizes he’s left the room in the middle of the night and go looking for him.

“Is that what you’re upset about?” He asks. He’s not angry but he’s something that Isaac can’t quite put his finger on. It’s either frustrated or confused; both smell a lot alike. “Because it wasn’t my idea to room with her.”

“I didn’t hear much protest.” And that’s not fair, he _knows_ that, but his body is pumping with adrenaline from his nightmare and the wolf inside him feels like fighting, claws dragging down the bones of his ribcage.

“That’s not fair.” Scott mumbles, looking at his shoes. It’s like he can read Isaac’s mind sometimes and more often than not he wonders if that’s a werewolf thing or if it’s just a Scott McCall thing; always empathetic to the people around him. 

Isaac sighs and leans against the doorframe before carding his fingers through his hair. “What did…you and her talk about?”

It’s not worth it, he thinks, as he hears the steady and strong pulsing of Scott’s heart. They’ve both been under too much stress lately as it is and he doesn’t want to be the one to quicken the beats, at least not in _that_ way, not from a fight. He forces his wolf back down, swallows the building rage, the trigger of animosity and relaxes. He thinks about Scott, he listens to his heartbeat and the beast settles behind his sternum.

Scott looks like he’s confused by the subject change but takes the opportunity easily with a hesitant smile. “Uhm, well, it was nothing specific. She just said that she misses me and…” He bites his lip and looks up at Isaac, shrugging his one shoulder. “That she knows we thought breaking up would be best and that she still believes that but…”

“She misses you.” Isaac nods, finishing the repeated thought with a small humming noise.

He relates to Allison sometimes more often than not; even though that’s something he’ll never admit. He knows Scott, or at least he likes to think he does, and the fact that he’s attractive only adds to how kind he can be, how selfless and how loving. So yeah, he understands Allison when she tells Scott she misses him because honestly, who wouldn’t miss having someone like that in their life?

“She might have said more but to be honest I was sort of distracted.” He admits, laughing with a hint of blush on his cheeks that’s far too attractive for his own good. Isaac’s heart painfully skips a beat in his chest and he hates the glint in Scott’s eye that tells him that he’s _heard_ it. “I kept trying to figure out which heartbeat was yours out of the rooms between us.”

Isaac smiles softly and shakes his head; the sleepy yet placated look Scott is giving him makes it impossible for him to be upset. And he wants to be angry with him, though he’s not sure why. He supposes because it’s easier; he’s used to walls and hiding behind them, he’s used to building them with his hands until his fingers bleed to mask how he feels—because no one’s ever cared about that before anyways.

Except Scott. He cares. And that scares the shit out of him.

“Do you want to take a walk?” Scott asks, tilting his head down the hall because he knows Isaac and he knows that he’s not going to be able to fall back asleep for a while. It’s also rather obvious that Scott doesn’t want to go back to his room yet and the last thing Isaac wants is to let him go.

And even though his body aches to sleep, Isaac can’t think of one thing he’d rather do. So he slips his shoes on and follows Scott out of his room, the door shutting behind them with a resounding thud.

0o0o0o0o

They walk around the motel complex a few times before changing their path to include the walkway to another parking lot and the pool, passing the sign Stiles had commented on when he parked the Jeep. They don’t talk much at first, just listen to the cars driving past the motel, the random noises coming from closed up rooms, heartbeats, breathing and the sounds of their feet knocking against cement and gravel. But as soon as Isaac mentions the cabin they’re driving to it’s like a rock shakes free from the side of a cliff, an avalanche starting as Scott’s face lights up.

Scott talks about the cabin in detail, how it’s right on a lake and how it’s been in the Stilinski family for years. He talks about when he was little, before his dad left, that the three of them used to join Stiles’ family up there for barbeques and summer days filled with melted popsicles and lake water, camping out under the stars and how his father used to teach him how to fish. It’s painful for Scott to talk about even though the memories are good, Isaac can sense it on him, can almost feel the tense hurt in his shoulders, can smell the rottenness of betrayal and disappointment.

At one point when Scott is talking, Isaac slips closer and slides his hand into his, easily lacing their fingers like he’s done it a million times. The shorter smiles softly at the sentiment, his thumb brushing the tree of veins on Isaac’s wrist as they walk.

Scott barely talks about his father, but when he does Isaac just…he just _gets_ it. They have that in common, not having the best father figures. Scott also understands what it’s like to hold the memories of his dad, the ones that were actually good, close to his heart. To memorize every detail; what his cologne may have smelled like, how his voice sounded, the smile lines on his face or the lightness in his eyes. He knows that his father wasn’t always who he ended up being, that at one point in both of their lives they had supportive and loving male figures.

And Scott understands that not everything turns out the way it’s supposed to.

They’re quiet again for a while but the silence is not unwelcome between them. Isaac listens to Scott’s heartbeat, his breathing, uses it as a tempo to regulate his own; his ears no longer hum with the sounds of his father screaming at him to get into the freezer, no harsh unwelcome spits of angry words and harsh fingers digging into his skin. Just Scott’s gentle _tha-thump, tha-thump_ of his heart. He tries to cover a yawn with the back of his hand but it’s too late, his movements too sluggish from being exhausted and Scott sees it, pauses on the path to turn his body to face him—he thinks he’s about to suggest they turn in, but the other something past Isaac’s frame.

A slow smile spreads out on his face, annoyingly causing flutters of nervousness in Isaac’s stomach.

He doesn’t even want to ask. “…What?”

Isaac is about to turn around to look at what has caught Scott’s attention but the other wolf is suddenly yanking him by his hand in that general direction, the taller not even recognizing where they’ve ended up until they stop at the edge of the motel pool.

Isaac raises his eyebrows and glances at Scott and then back at the water. The pool isn’t as far gone as the rest of the motel, he’s actually surprised with how well kept it looks and except for a few stray leaves and branches decorating the shallow end of the pool near the steps…it almost looks…sanitary enough to swim in.

But…his head snaps back to Scott, who is still grinning at him like he’s given Isaac an early Christmas present and…no, they’re not actually going to—

“Have you ever gone skinny dipping?” Scott asks; he’s dropped the other’s hand a while ago and now both sets of fingers are playing with the bottom of Isaac’s t-shirt.

Isaac’s mouth falls open and he stumbles over a few of the words that want to work their way out of his mouth but it seems they’ve gotten stuck under his tongue. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Scott asks, his eyes flickering up to Isaac’s stormy blue ones.

They’re still that warm coffee color that he identifies with but there’s a hint of something darker bleeding into the patches of light brown. He shivers as the pads of Scott’s fingers trail over his stomach, still tugging gently at the bottom of his shirt.

“You _look_ like you’re a lot of trouble.” Isaac teases, making Scott chuckle and then pull back. He tugs off his own shirt, Isaac’s eyes instantly attracted to the way his skin and muscles move under the lights surrounding the pool and the pale moonlight hanging low in the sky.

The other hums, waits for Isaac to take his own shirt off but when he doesn’t he starts to strip down to his boxer briefs. He licks his lips and glances down as Scott bends to take the fabric off his legs, kicking his shoes off and aside a moment later. The black boxer briefs don’t leave much to the imagination and this plan to use the pool is suddenly one of the best ideas Scott has ever had. He doesn’t think he’ll actually strip down naked though, not in a crowded motel with rooms surrounding them, not when his ex-girlfriend is how many rooms away sleeping soundly (at least he hopes so).

“Maybe I am.” Scott admits when he slides up against Isaac, lifting himself up on his toes to gently kiss at his lips. “Now are you going to undress yourself or am I going to have to do it for you?”

Isaac can feel the heat of Scott’s body rolling off of him in waves, pressing against the stitch work of his clothes to the point where it seems like it’s seeping into the pores of his skin. His hands move to grip Scott’s hipbones, his head dipping to press kisses to the side of Scott’s mouth; the excitement mixed with a potent dose of happiness and hints of arousal are almost intoxicating enough to take his breath away.

It seems like a great idea until they’re actually in the pool; their lips were attached for the betterment of Scott helping Isaac pull off articles of his clothing, chuckling against kisses as he trips on his sweatpants and gets his head stuck while trying to yank off his shirt. The water is a lot colder than either of them were expecting, Isaac thinks it has something to do with the rain water tainting the heated pool but they’re both shivering. He’s got goosebumps covering every inch of his body, but despite the fact that Scott is in the same boat he’s trying to pretend that this is _still_ the best idea he’s ever had by diving under the water a few times and coming up directly in front of Isaac.

He smiles and kisses along Isaac’s shoulder blades, trying to get his body to stop tensing against the shivers.

“If you relax it’s a lot easier.” He runs his nose over his collar bone.

Isaac’s body uncoils after a few moments like a snapping rubber band, it’s instantaneous and when Scott feels it he pulls back with a satisfied smile on his face, splashing his chest with water. He cards a few fingers through Scott’s hair, watches as water drips down the side of his face and the ridges of his muscles as they stand in the shallow end, the water lapping against the edges of the pool with light thwapping noises.

“I am never going along with any of your ideas ever again.” Isaac mutters but his syllables are coated with a smile in his voice.

“I thought you trusted me.” Scott teases before moving to the side and pushing himself up to float on his back.

Isaac bites his lip and goes under water enough that his shoulders are covered and not exposed to the night air. Regardless of it being rather humid out, especially since the rain, there’s a bite to the soft breeze working its way through the fake palm trees near the entrance of the pool that’s making the hair on his arms stand up straight.

“I take back the one time I said that you always seem to want to do the right thing because this…this is in the definition of wrong.” Isaac smirks as he uses both of his hands to press down on Scott’s chest; the shorter loses the balance he’d acquired floating and submerges into the water for a few moments.

He comes back up and flips his head to the side, his hair shaking out like a dog would after getting a bath. Scott grins at him before shaking his head, “I told you I never have any idea what I’m doing most of the time. Besides,” He inches closer and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of Isaac’s boxer briefs before using the leverage to yank him against his chest. “I didn’t hear much complaining when your clothes were coming off.”

“Didn’t seem like I had much of a choice either—” Scott cuts off the rest of his sentence with a kiss, his body pressing wonderfully against his in the cool water.

He grunts softly and leans down to wrap his arms around Scott’s waist, lifting him up a little to compensate for the height difference as Scott’s fingers dip into the back of Isaac’s boxer briefs. His hips jerk forward at the sensation and a soft moan leaves the space between the Scott’s lips as he opens his mouth more to slide his tongue along Isaac’s. The heat of the kiss makes him completely forget where they are; a shitty motel in freezing cold water, a looming alpha pack hell bent on killing them all in Beacon Hills and Stilinski’s obsession with the virgin sacrifices.

He forgets all about Derek throwing the glass at his head and kicking him out of the only home he had come to know since his father died, he forgets about Allison and her obvious feelings for her ex-boyfriend that he’s currently kissing. He forgets about the fact that he and Scott are still undefined and that there’s this blip of fear in the back of his mind that they might lose themselves in makeout sessions like this and the in the comfort of remaining in a gray area.

For a while it’s just the two of them kissing, hands grabbing at one another like they might be able to tear the skin off bones. The wolf is raging inside of him behind his ribcage, a few things easily awaken it and arousal is _definitely_ one of them. Primal urges, he thinks, tripwires to his claws coming out and his eyes glowing yellow. But he keeps the beast at bay, keeps it hidden behind his ribcage as the kiss slowly comes to a stop, both of them panting against one another’s lips and breathing the same air. It’s suffocating, almost, carbon dioxide and chlorine from the pool. But it’s comforting too, like Isaac’s lungs recognize the scent of Scott and collapse around it.

Isaac hums softly before pulling on Scott’s wrist towards the deep end; there’s a hesitance there in the way Scott’s body tenses. He can smell waves of brief panic, it tastes like sweat and he rubs at his nose with the back of his hand to get rid of it. The shorter smiles apologetically in his direction and relents, letting him pull him into deeper water. The water laps over Isaac’s upper chest and completely covers Scott’s shoulders and while he doesn’t understand the flash of fear in Scott’s eyes a moment before he knows that wrapping an arm around his waist to pull him flush against his chest won’t hurt either.

Scott smiles softly and rests his forehead against Isaac’s nose and lips for a few long moments before speaking. “I almost drowned when I was eight.” The panic and fear makes a hell of a lot of sense now and Isaac feels sort of guilty that he tried to drag him into the deep end. Scott senses it and shakes his head. “Dude, guilt smells like dusty bookshelves, knock it off.”

Isaac smirks and feels the lightest bit of blushes paint over his cheekbones with thick brushstrokes and just shakes his head.

“I wasn’t the greatest swimmer but I thought if I just went out into the deep end slowly and treaded water the best I could then I’d be okay. But my,” He looks down at the water between them, like the clear liquid has the words he’s looking for. “But my asthma was bad and when the water reached my chin I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

Isaac raises his hand from the place on Scott’s back to rub the back of the other’s neck, his thumb pushing slow circles into the top of his spine.

Scott lifts his head and brushes their noses together then leans back into the touch of Isaac’s fingers. “I don’t know how long I was under the water until my dad pulled me out but I remember feeling lightheaded and like…” He touches his chest, fingers scratching at his sternum. “Like my lungs were going to pop.”

He never wants Scott to go through something like that again, the feeling like there’s so much pressure on his chest that his organs will burst like a balloon kissing a needle. He knows it’s nearly impossible to ask for and while Scott may never feel liquid itching its way to fill up his lungs he knows that metaphorical drowning can be just as bad as actually breathing in water. He knows it’s impossible to save him from something like that, no matter how much he may want to or try. And the thought is paralyzing, it’s buckling against his chest.

Isaac brushes his lips over Scott’s forehead and sighs, his hand moving down the other’s spine to rest on his lower back again. He feels obligated to expose himself even though he feels like a broken record with his issues and nightmares. But Scott’s eyes are warm, they’re open, they’re nonjudgmental and he finds himself falling into them as he begins to speak.

“When my dad would lock me in the freezer...” He licks his lips and smiles softly, because at this point what else can he do but pretend it’s nothing but some sort of sick joke. “Sometimes, he’d forget I was in there and I’d fall asleep but…” Isaac swallows, finds something interesting in the water to the right of Scott because he can feel the other’s eyes boring into his face. “other times I’d panic and I’d try and claw my way out but I couldn’t. It was suffocating. It…it felt like—”

“Like drowning.” Scott whispers and Isaac nods.

The shorter cups the side of Isaac’s face, the skin on his fingers rough and prune-like from being in the water. He feels a tingling sensation where Scott touches him against his cheek, like he’s trying to take his pain away, or wants to, tries to, but then doesn’t. His eyes are filled with something that he can gratefully say is not pity, the last thing he wants is for Scott to feel sorry for him. The coffee color is dolloped with dark shades of caramel; streaks of protectiveness and guilt and pain all rolled into one.

“I wish I could have done something…I just, I don’t know, _anything_ so you wouldn’t have had to go through that.”

The sentiment is not lost on him but he bites the tip of his tongue in responding with something that sounds a lot like ‘it’s okay’ because it’s not, ‘don’t worry about it’ because he doesn’t want Scott to stop caring (though he doubts he would regardless) or ‘it’s made me into a stronger person’ because he’s not so sure of that sometimes.

“You can’t save everyone.” Isaac says instead, his voice serious even though he’s trying to say ‘thank you’ through his tone. It’s not working.

At least Scott doesn’t look insulted but instead determined, his eyes flashing gold to prove a point. “I can try.” Is all he replies with before kissing Isaac as a sheer point of distraction.

Isaac doesn’t mind, he’s not sure what he’d say to that anyways. He figures replying that it’s pointless to try, to stretch himself that thin, that it’s physically impossible for him to reach everyone when he might need to, or that his heart is too big (and that it’s one of those things he loves and hates about him at the same time) is useless. Scott knows all this and still refuses to think any other way.

No matter how much some people don’t want to or can’t be saved.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to leave any comments or opinions! Thanks for reading.


	3. Priorities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The NC-17 rating rings true for this chapter. I appreciate all the comments I’ve received, I’m glad you like the fic so far!

It’s a complete and utter myth that werewolves can't get cold, they're still part human after all. It’s more like now he just doesn’t feel changes in temperature all that often but when he does, it’s intense. Just like loud noises to his werewolf hearing makes him feel like his eardrums are going to explode, or when he can smell things he wishes he couldn’t. And even though his body can adjust to changes in temperature, it always seems to take longer than he expects.  His body had been cold to the very bone for _hours_ after he had plunged into an ice bath to try and save Erica and Boyd. Pulling himself from a cold pool to rush back to his room half naked, laughing in-between Scott pressing his body against his and stealing kisses when he can seems to be no exception.

Isaac shivers wordlessly as Scott disappears into his motel room bathroom to grab a few towels that were provided on the sink so they could dry themselves off. He moves to him first, not worrying about himself or that he’s dripping all over the carpet as he wraps a big, fluffy towel around Isaac’s shoulders. He smiles softly as Scott rubs his hands over his arms, trying to create friction and warmth between his skin and the towel before gently kissing his collarbone.

“See? Wasn’t so bad.” He smirks, looking up at him.

Isaac groans. “Speak for yourself; I think I have frost forming in my hair.”

Scott laughs and pulls back to pick up his own towel off the bed, pointing with an amused smile to the pink flamingo emblem that has black ‘LP’ block letters over the bird in the corner of the towel.

“Hey, at least I wasn’t asking you to crawl into a tub full of ice, alright? I call that progress.”

“Call it whatever you want, I’m _still_ freezing.”

“I can see that,” Scott says softly, taking a step forward to grasp Isaac’s arms in his hands again, he slowly works the palms of his hands over the towel covering his skin. He rubs up and down, his eyes flickering up to look into Isaac’s. He leans up on his toes to kiss his shoulder, his lips working their way up his neck as his hands continuously stroke his arms. “Any better?” He breathes out, his warm breath tickling his skin.

His entire frame gives a careless shudder; he can feel Scott smile against his throat. Isaac lets out a soft sigh before leaning his body into the other’s administrations. He knows _exactly_ what Scott is doing and doesn’t hesitate a second to play along.

“A little.” His teeth clamp down on his lower lip.

Scott hums low in his throat, the sound waves vibrating straight through to his groin. “You’re shaking.” He comments, his hands slipping under the towel wrapped around Isaac’s shoulders to feel his skin; his nails scrape his sides before pressing into the muscles of his back.

Droplets of water are still hugging his curls; he can feel them drip onto his cheeks and shoulders. He can’t seem to stop the shivers that are wracking his frame, like a pulse is being sent to his muscles and bones from his core. Though, at this point, he’s pretty sure it’s not from being cold…and it’s more than obvious that Scott seems to be picking up on that.

“We need to warm you up,” The shorter says, his hands gripping both of his sides. He pushes him gently backwards. “Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.” He smirks.

Isaac smiles slowly and licks his lips before shaking his head. “Scott, I know you’re not exactly a ‘how to’ expert on being a werewolf but…do I have to remind you that werewolves don’t get sick?”

He feels the edge of the bed hit the back of his knees, his body folding back against the bedspread. Scott kneels between his legs, hovering over his body, leaning down until their chests touch and his lips kiss along his sternum.

Sharp pangs of want, need and arousal assault Isaac’s senses. “Well, I don’t think I’m willing to take that chance.” Scott’s tongue sneaks out and kitten licks his nipple before he grinds his hips down. Isaac hisses from the contact of the cold and damp boxer briefs material against his skin but his stomach knots with heat. “Are you?”

Isaac is about to respond but is cut off with a harsh kiss. Out of all the things Scott can be, this is something that continues to catch him by surprise. The first time they had fooled around, Scott was more like himself; he was calm, heartbeat steady, making sure he was as gentle with Isaac as he needed to be. It wasn’t until the sheets were damp with sweat and cum that Isaac muttered ‘you don’t have to be careful, I’m not going to shatter into a million pieces. You can _touch_ me like you mean it, you know’.

And while Scott is kind, sweet, easily caught up in the emotions of others and quick to forget his own, while he’s gentle and soft with his words—it seems like all of that can buckle into his chest and his own wolf inside of him soaks up those emotions to release more animalistic ones when he’s turned on.

This time is no different.

His kisses are rough, all teeth and tongue, his hands travel over Isaac’s body to grab and knead at his skin, his heartbeat is pounding wildly against his ribcage and he can feel the exertion of breaths he’s taking as his chest slides against his own with every intake of air into his lungs. Isaac gasps as Scott’s hand travels down his chest and sneaks behind the band of his boxers, slowly stroking his half-hardening cock. His eyes shoot open and bleed gold, the wolf growling behind his sternum and scratching its claws against his ribcage.

“Shh,” Scott lowers his mouth to his ear, kisses below it, like he can tell Isaac is on the brink of losing control.

He’s not exactly sure how he’s supposed to relax with Scott’s warm body on top of his, giving off heat like a fucking furnace, and not to mention he’s got strong fingers wrapped around his dick. But he slowly does so, at least the wolf part of him listens, and his eyes return back to that stormy blue as he’s grounded, anchored back into place.

Isaac’s fingers fumble as they reach under Scott to yank down the other’s briefs, his cock hanging heavy above his stomach now, balls still trapped behind the elastic material. Scott squeezes his eyes closed, hand stilling on Isaac’s cock a moment as the taller gets his hand around him, strokes long and slow, a guttural sound exiting Scott’s throat at the sensation. Scott uses his other hand to even the playing field, tugging down Isaac’s boxer briefs and exposing him to the coolness of the room. Isaac’s hips jerk up into him, nearly knocking him off balance and making Scott chuckle before joining their lips in a fast kiss, his tongue sliding into the other’s mouth. The hand that isn’t wrapped around his cock grips his hip bone, fingers imprinting brief marks into his skin.

He can feel pleasure coiling and knotting hotly in his lower belly, hips jerking up into Scott so that their cocks slide together. Isaac moans loudly, his teeth digging into his lower lip as the other pulls back softly to place open mouthed kisses on his neck. He sucks hickies into his skin, purple and blue disappearing moments after the marks are placed into his pores. Scott’s hand seems smaller than his when their fingers are wrapped around one another’s, lacing together as they rest on Isaac’s thigh or swinging between them as they walk. But apparently he’s misinterpreted the size because his eyes nearly roll back into his fucking head as he feels Scott’s hand wrap around both of their cocks easily. His hard on twitches in his grasp and against the other’s dick, precum leaking from his head and rolling down his length to help Scott stroke them off together.

Isaac’s back arches, his throat exposed, which Scott wastes no time to dive his nose into, obviously scenting him.

The sensation tickles a little and Isaac finds himself chuckling even though all his body wants to do is groan as Scott quickens his movements on their cocks. “What are you doing?”

“You smell good.” Scott whispers, his voice has streaks of pure pleasure in it.

He can’t imagine how, he most likely reeks of sweat, bits of cologne that has managed to stick in his pores, and chlorine but it’s probably the emotions Scott is picking up on instead. Piquant arousal and _want_ and the appealing sweetness of happiness. His nose falls into the corners of Isaac’s neck, tongue jutting out to lick a stripe into the dip of his collar bone.

Isaac’s hands move to trail down Scott’s back, nails digging into his skin hard enough to leave little red marks of ownership that he wishes wouldn’t heal right away as Scott jerks his hips forward, sliding his cock slickly against Isaac’s. He’s not going to last much longer, there’s too much sensory input all at once and it’s knocking his body into overdrive. It’s all coming to a peak; Scott’s body hovering over him, the smell of sweat, arousal and something simply _Scott_   (earthy and warm) on his skin, his hands gripping him, nails digging into his hip as the other slides their cocks together, pausing every so often to stroke his thumb over their heads, his lips working their way over his throat and jawline and his lips, teeth digging into his lower lip—

his pulse is thrumming in his neck, Scott can probably hear the beats and feel his heart pound against his ribs, his hands fall to his sides, claws making their appearance and tearing through the cheap fabric of the motel sheets.

“ _Scott_ —” Isaac tries to warn him and Scott just smirks against his lips and merely quickens his hand movements, twisting his wrist and he cums. _Hard_.

A sharp pleasured sensation travels up his spine, rests warmly in his belly, soothes frayed nerve endings as strings of white coat Scott’s stomach and his fist. His thoughts are hazy, his eyes seeing black dots; he can distinctly hear the upbeat of the shorter’s heart as he reaches the edge and orgasms just as hard, feels the combination of their cum drip onto his stomach.

Isaac trails his fingers down Scott’s back as the other rests his forehead against his shoulder, his breath still coming out in heavy pants against his skin, seeping into him. He can feel Scott’s legs shaking, wanting to just collapse on Isaac after exerting himself but holds back, not wanting to make any more of a mess that’s already between them as their cocks soften.

He turns his head and gently kisses Scott’s jaw, smiling softly when the other pulls back to press their foreheads together, joining their lips in a soft breathy kiss. Isaac feels the mattress shift as Scott finally manages to get out of bed, going to the bathroom to grab something to clean them both up.

Isaac is just happy that he doesn’t bother to pull on his boxer briefs to do it.

0o0o0o0o

They’re both quiet after they clean themselves up and get back into bed, the sheets cool and welcoming to the heat of their bodies. Regardless, Scott winds his arm around Isaac’s shoulders and pulls him into his chest. He’s on his back but doesn’t resist when he feels his arm wrap around him, Isaac’s body folding like a house of cards as he turns to bury his face in the crook of the boy’s neck. He breathes him in, his nose gently grazing against the pulse point, Scott’s palm pressing against his spine. His thumb traces circles into the spaces between the bones of his spine and Isaac lets out a long breath, the air bouncing off of Scott’s neck to kiss the skin of his face.

He craves moments like this, when its calm, when all that encompasses them is the sound of their heartbeats and oxygen converting in and out of their lungs. Isaac wants to memorize them, store them in the back of his mind when he needs them the most, the small content sounds vibrating in Scott’s chest as his hand moves from his back to run through the curls in his hair, or the warmth between their skin where the parts of  their bodies are pressed together.

“You’re much warmer now,” Scott speaks against the skin of his forehead, then smiles. “Think I’m satisfied you won’t get sick.”

Isaac laughs, the sound streaked with exhaustion. “So glad you’re sated.”

Scott smirks and hums low in his chest, fingers moving from Isaac’s hair to play with a few curls at the nape of his neck. Isaac rests his arm along the other’s waist, squeezes softly before closing his eyes, falling into the sensation of Scott twisting his hair gently near the top of his spine. He knows he’ll have to get up soon, he has no idea what time it is but that Scott can’t stay or fall asleep here, that he has to wake up next to his ex-girlfriend.

And something blooms in his chest without his permission, tangible envy as green as the artificial leaves of those stupid palm trees by the pool. Scott feels it, tenses underneath Isaac, and for fucks sake can’t he get a moment alone with his emotions? He says nothing, probably has no idea what to say anyways and the apprehensiveness doesn’t leave the male’s shoulders even though he’s stroking Isaac’s back now.

He wants to ask what this is, what is actually going on between them, if it’s more than just quick kisses and a pack mentality of protectiveness or if it’s just whispers in dark places that the moon can’t touch and satisfying orgasms without the mess of a relationship. Scott doesn’t seem like the type who would fool around without some sort of intent, without an endgame, but Isaac finds himself grasping at straws. This is new for the both of them and he just doesn’t _know_. And he’s too afraid to ask in risk of losing whatever he has going on.

Because this, this is _good_ , even if it’s undefined. Isaac doesn’t need any help losing things that are good for him so he shuts his mouth when it opens to speak and closes his eyes again, pressing his nose into the skin of Scott’s neck.

And even though he tries to resist it for just a bit longer, Isaac falls asleep to the hum of the air conditioning, the steady beating of Scott’s heart and the warmth and contentedness flowing off of the other’s body.

No nightmares visit him this time.

When he wakes up Scott isn’t there, the bed is cold and there is an imprint from where his head had been resting in the pillow next to Isaac’s face. He sighs and trails his hand down the space next to him, gathering the sheets between his fingers and squeezing for a long moment before letting go. He must have slept like the dead because usually he’s a light sleeper and would have felt when Scott pulled away, out of bed to head back to his and Allison’s room before she woke up. He grunts and shuts his eyes against the ray of sun streaming in through the window, flecks of dust dancing lightly in the trail of daylight as it covers his skin and most of the bed. Isaac shifts to his right, burying his face in the pillow to pick up hints of Scott’s shampoo, chlorine and fabric softener.

He doesn’t want to get up, is purely satisfied with the idea of burrowing into Scott’s scent left behind on the sheets and pillow, staving off the inevitable talk that they need to have about what this is and where it leaves them, not to mention the constant state of ever impending death left behind in Beacon Hills—

but a knock on his door pulls him from bed and he opens it to find a too-awake Scott for this early in the morning.

Isaac blinks sleepily against the morning light, rubbing his eyes with his fists until he feels like he can see properly. Scott makes a noise in his throat and wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him closer until he can lean up and kiss his forehead.

“Morning sunshine.”

Isaac rolls his eyes. “You’re too chipper for seven AM.”

Scott grins. “Seven AM and I’m already receiving compliments.” He pulls back and sticks his hands in his pockets. “We’re leaving in ten so get ready.”

“One more day on the road for this cabin, think it’s worth it?” He asks, thinking about how he has to cram himself and his long limbs into the back of that jeep or try not to kill Scott’s ex-girlfriend for giving him small smiles and batting her eyelashes at him.

“Anything that’s worth it isn’t easy.” Scott says and Isaac knows he’s not just talking about the roadtrip.

0o0o0o0o0

They go back to the diner for breakfast, even though it’s backtracking, before hitting the road again. Stiles thinks it’s a good idea because they already know what’s on the menu and this way they don’t have to search for some place to eat later on in the day. Scott is seated next to him, Allison on the other side as Scott is squished in the middle of them (the irony of the seating arrangements isn’t lost on him) and it’s like his body is hypersensitive to every move the male is making. He feels the gentle brushes of his shoulder against his own, the way Scott moves his foot over to run alongside his shin and the small smiles he gives him when he glances in his direction. If Allison or anyone else at the table notices, no one says anything.

Everyone is tired, Isaac can see it in their eyes and he even offers to drive the jeep so Stiles can get more sleep as he shovels a forkful of pancakes into his mouth.

“I don’t trust you driving my baby.”

“Stiles.” Scott laughs, his voice slightly scolding, like he can’t believe Isaac hasn’t earned a certain amount of trust from his best friend already after what they’ve been through together.

“I’m an excellent driver.” Isaac grins, elbowing Scott in his side and making him chuckle.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Alright, _Rain Man_ regardless of your driving skills or lack thereof, you don’t know how to get to the cabin.”

“I can direct him,” Scott offers, “I’ve been there just as many times as you have.”

“That’s debatable.”

Scott smirks and shakes his head. “Stiles, you’re like falling asleep in your eggs. Just let him drive.”

“Stupid werewolf boyfriends.” Stiles mutters, low in his throat, barely audible enough that only Scott and Isaac can hear him.

Isaac’s heart skips a beat; the smile fades from Scott’s face.

He doesn’t know what it means.

0o0o0o0o0

It’s nearly one in the afternoon before Scott convinces him to pull into a rest stop. Driving is helping him keep random thoughts from assaulting his brain; things he doesn’t want to think about. Like Scott’s smile fading at breakfast, and the way he stops giving him little touches and smiles, and the ache in his chest that feels like a black hole sucking his ribs right out of his body because he doesn’t _understand_ what happened.

Had Stiles’ comment really gotten to him so easily? And was the comment so awful that it sparked that sort of reaction from Scott?

He’s thinking about too many things, and driving on top of it, and the open road and cracked windows blowing a soft cool breeze into the interior of the car seems to settle him and calm his wolf. Keeps him from snapping at Scott every time he suggests they stop or directs him down the road because he doesn’t know where he’s going.

He never thought he’d say it but he’s actually getting tired of the not knowing or understanding aspects of his life. And that has nothing to do with driving.

They don’t talk as he drives, unless Scott has to iron out directions for upcoming miles. Allison is listening to her iPod in the back, Isaac can hear the upbeat clangs and guitar solos, Stiles is fast asleep behind him, nearly drooling on Lydia’s shoulder as she glares a hole in the windshield…but makes no move to shove him off of her. The silence isn’t welcome this time, he knows Scott can sense the palpable confusion and how uncomfortable he is but unlike other times his hands stay on his thighs and don’t move an inch to offer Isaac any source of comfort.

Hurt blossoms in his chest, probably smells like burnt wood or plastic, and huffs out an annoyed sigh as he pulls into the rest stop.

“We needed gas anyways.” Scott tells him, unbuckling his seat belt.

Isaac makes a non-committable noise and gets out of the jeep, pocketing the keys before stretching his arms over his head. Even though he’s been trapped with his thoughts to keep him company in the silence of the jeep for the past few hours, ironically the last thing he wants to do is talk to Scott. So before the other can snag his attention he disappears into the small convenient store to pay for a tank of gas and grab a few snacks.

His fingers curl around a bag of Doritos and he can smell her before she actually makes it into his line of vision; pure vanilla and distinct pine, that lingering scent of Scott that makes his stomach clench painfully.

“Did you know that there are enough preservatives in a bag of Doritos to mummify a small dog?”

Isaac sighs; so not only has Allison managed to contribute to Scott’s need to press pause on whatever it is he and Isaac are doing, she effectively ruins his taste for one of his favorite chips. How charming. He still grabs the bag of chips out of spite.

He turns his head to look at her. “Hello to you too Allison.” He manages a smile when the edges of her lips tug into a similar expression.

Allison curls her short hair around her ear, fingering a pack of Cheetos before picking them up. “Everyone sort of got out to stretch, you’ll probably be able to give up driving.” She offers, like sticking him in the back between her and Scott again is some sort of gift. “Stiles wants to drive again. Well…more like Lydia is forcing him to because if he drools on her shoulder again she’s going to force him to pay the dry cleaning bill for her dress.” She laughs, the sound light and pleasing against his ears.

He hates it.

“Did you need something?” He asks, confused as to why she’s talking to him. Not that they’re exactly enemies anymore but they’re not friends either. And he doesn’t know why she’s suddenly coming up to him and engaging in conversation when it’s not needed. It’s civil, sure, and he doesn’t mind but there’s something else to this and he thinks he knows what it is.

“Are we okay?” She shifts her body to look at him, her face tired but her eyes alert, like she’s trying to take mental notes on his expression. “I just…you give me these looks sometimes. Like you’re angry,” Allison frowns. “I thought we were okay, that you had forgiven me for what I did to you?”

He remembers the conversation they had in the closet at school, where he had pointed out that the last thing on his list of importance was her happiness, that she had purposely stabbed him _twenty_ times with _knives_ but that she had offered an apology and he had more or less taken it.

“Can I ask you something?” Isaac licks his lips and turns to face her too; he’s got more than a head’s height on her so he tilts his chin down slightly. “No offense but I highly doubt me forgiving you is going to make or break how you live the rest of your life so why is it so important?”

His question obviously throws her off and Allison hesitates of a moment, wrapping her arms around herself. She looks uncomfortable and something bubbles in his belly; nerves wrapping around his ribcage and squeezing his heart in his chest. He wonders if he and Scott have been too obvious in what they've been doing. It’s not exactly hard to see that something has shifted between them, that they've become closer. That Scott touches him in a way that should seem more than it is, that Isaac smiles at him when he thinks no one is looking like Scott emulates fucking warmth and sunshine and puppies.

He’s stuck between conflicting emotions because if Allison _has_ noticed...on the one hand, he's relieved. He hates sneaking around even though a gray area is comforting and safe but on the other hand he doesn't want Scott to pull away, to regret what they've done because he's not ready to be something and he might never be.

“Because…” She licks her lips and looks up at him, like she’s still contemplating whether or not she should say it. “I’m trying to mend bridges with him,” She’s trying to get back together with him, is what she’s saying in the spaces between her words, “And to do that I don’t want there to be any animosity between us…”

Isaac frowns; he gets what she’s trying to do but he can’t seem to connect the dots. But why come to him and make sure that they’re okay? What does that have to do with her and Scott?

The question ‘why’ is on his lips but she answers him before he can speak. “You matter to Scott. How you feel is important to him.”

He’s suddenly very glad that Allison isn’t a werewolf because his heart, the betrayer of an organ, is beating a mile a minute at the omission. It’s something he obviously knows but hearing it out loud is somehow different, like it’s a confirmation he’s been waiting to receive.

She wrings her fingers together, making the bag of chips between her hands crackle. “And Scott is important to me.” She says softly, like that explains everything…and oddly enough, it sort of does.

It’s not so much that she feels bad she stabbed Isaac with a bunch of knives (sorry, Chinese Ring Daggers) but that Scott _cares_ and she cares that Scott cares, and for anything to bloom between the old lovers Scott has to feel okay about the relationship between him and Allison. Great.

He wants to be selfish, tell her that no they’re not okay and he’s not sure they will be. He wants to hold a grudge, wants to make it difficult for Allison to take Scott back even though she’s hiding behind the ruse that she just wants to rebuild burnt bridges, that they can’t be together now but someday, but he can’t. Because if he does that and Scott finds out the only person he’ll be hurting is someone he really cares about.

So he smiles softly, pretends like his heart isn’t in his throat and nods his head. “We’re fine.” He assures her and clears his throat so he doesn’t sound choked.  “I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that we weren’t.” Because they aren’t, not really, and even though Allison might not know they obviously want the same thing.

He really has to start controlling his facial expressions.

0o0o0o0o0o

By the time Isaac leaves the convenient store, Allison has retreated to the bathrooms with Lydia and Stiles is standing by his jeep filling up the tank. He glances to his right to see Scott seated at one of the picnic tables placed strategically outside the store, texting someone on his phone—probably his mother to assure her that they’re fine and almost to the cabin. He hesitates, not sure if he should head over or not—and he hates that, he hates that Scott has become someone unapproachable in his eyes. He’s about to head back to the jeep but the other looks up from the table and gives him a small smile and he can’t avoid him now.

He sits down and pushes a cup of coffee towards him. “Got you this,” He says, running a hand through his curls. “It’s probably burnt but there’s cinnamon in it like you like it.”

Scott smiles softly and wraps his hands around the cup. “Thanks.”

Isaac glances around to see Stiles at his jeep, playing on his phone, not that he’s so worried if he sees them because he already knows something is going on. He listens carefully and picks up the girls’ voices in the bathroom, giggling and joking and taking their time reapplying makeup even though they’re not going anywhere but into another three to four hour drive.

 “I heard you talking to Allison.” Scott says before Isaac can even work on forming the words he wants to say in this short amount of alone time that they have.

He probably looks like a fucking goldfish opening and closing his mouth like that.

“She’s right you know, you _are_ important to me.” He takes his one hand off the coffee and entangles his digits with Isaac’s, the pads of his fingers and palm of his hand are heated significantly from being pressed against the hot liquid in the cup.

Isaac chokes against the response he wants to come out of his mouth but says instead, “Well I’m glad you feel _something_ for the person who is willing to make all the midnight taco runs.”

Scott laughs and shakes his head, squeezing Isaac’s hand as he looks down at the table. He can feel the vibration of the shorter’s laugh while holding onto his hand, his stomach fluttering ridiculously at such a simple action. There has to be a balance, though, to this conversation. He can feel it coming, feel the _but_   starting to form on Scott’s tongue…because all in all, his smile still dropped after Stiles’ comment and that has to mean something.

Regardless of how much Isaac doesn’t want it to.

When Scott looks up at Isaac again his face is serious, his thumb rubbing the web of skin between his pointer finger and thumb. He sighs, looks out at the parking lot like the last thing he wants to be doing is having this conversation but the inevitable action of the other shoe dropping is something Isaac is always expecting.

“What Stiles said it just...really made me realize, I think that’s the problem sometimes.” Isaac isn’t following but he’s quiet and waits for Scott to continue. “When I was with Allison I fell hard and I fell fast. She was the most important thing to me compared to anything else.”

Isaac’s eyes search Scott’s brown ones, memorizes the light hues of caramel colors mixing with ground coffee. Understanding slowly clicks into place as he feels Scott’s thumb run over his own, the shorter breaking eye contact and looking at the picnic table. That hero complex is shining bright and true like armor resting on Scott’s shoulders; the necessity to make sure he’s there for anyone who might need him, uninterrupted, the urge to save everyone in spite of himself and his relationships. Always trying to do the right thing; no matter what. Like if he tries hard enough the sheer action of it will mean that everything will work out in the end.

“And I’m just afraid that...with this alpha pack and the Darach…I'm afraid my priorities aren't going to be what they need to be.”

The unspoken end to that sentence ‘if you’re involved’ hangs in the air between them, soaks into Isaac’s lungs and stings the pink flesh, burning him from the inside out. He doesn’t really feel like Scott has to explain any further, he gets it, he’s scared that whatever is happening between them will become the same thing. That it’ll be a distraction; that people could get hurt because of it. He wants to assure him that that won’t happen, that it’ll be different, that he can protect himself and Scott doesn’t have to worry about him— because the last thing Scott needs, to be concerned about protecting someone else when he already tries to stack the world’s hopeless on his shoulders.

But he can’t be sure, because if anything, how much Scott cares for the people he loves is extremely predictable. It’s something that can too easily be used against him and Isaac doesn’t want to become a liability.

“We can try.” Isaac says, because that seems to be the only thing he can offer.

Scott smiles, his eyes hopeful but not completely convinced. “We can try.” He repeats, kissing his hand before standing with his coffee.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, as always. Much appreciated. Comments and opinions are welcome as well :)


	4. (not so) complicated

Isaac isn’t quite sure how he’s managed to get stuck in the back seat, _again_ , this time with Stiles and Allison as Lydia takes the passenger seat and Scott drives for the last stretch to the cabin. And yet, there he is, crammed behind the driver, his knees pressed uncomfortably against the seat as his back bitches and aches from the small amount of wiggle room.

Isaac grunts; they’re stuck in traffic, have been for the past half hour. “Are we far away from this damn cabin?”

He can practically feel Scott’s half smile before he briefly sees it reflected in the car door mirror. “Almost, we just have to get through this one tunnel up ahead and then it’s smooth sailing. Twenty-five minutes after that?” He guesses and Stiles nods a little next to him in agreement.

Twenty-five minutes after traffic and a tunnel…okay, he can do this. He’s made it this far, he can take a little bit more (he’s not sure whether he’s more annoyed or reassured that that’s a statement he practically lives by at this point). He’s had to deal with worse so he shifts down in his seat, tries to get as comfortable as possible, and buckles down for the remaining miles. He’s tired anyways; he can feel it rest heavily in his eye sockets as his temples throb when he sets his head back against the seat. He hadn’t exactly gotten a lot of sleep between his nightmare, the pool and well, _Scott_. Which is totally something he shouldn’t be thinking about right now because a pang of arousal leaves his pores and he can feel it fill up the entire small space of the jeep, Scott glancing back at him through the rearview mirror for a moment. Isaac shifts, squashes the sensation and makes it disappear because the last thing Scott needs to feel is Isaac getting turned on in this damn jeep surrounded by other people while he’s trying to fucking drive.

He lets out a long breath, shakes his head when all Scott does is _smirk_ and runs his hands along his thighs as he looks out the window. His phone buzzes and he takes a moment to slide his body up enough to reach inside his pocket to fish it out.

It’s a text message…from Stiles.

STILES 3:33 PM  
You  two are ridiculous, I’m not even a werewolf and I can tell what’s going on.

Isaac frowns and is about to look over at the idiot next to him but another text vibrates his phone. He puts his cell on silent because…how many people does Isaac really text, honestly? He guesses he could say it was Boyd, if he had to, but he’d really rather not draw attention to himself.

STILES 3:34 PM  
Don’t /look/ at me. Haven’t you ever seen James Bond? Covert ops communication, man.

Isaac rolls his eyes and types.

ISAAC 3:35 PM  
I’ve never seen any of those. Why are you texting me?

Stiles grunts and glances at Allison when she looks over at him. “Temple Run.” He explains weakly, like he lost a level and then types feverishly.

STILES 3:37 PM  
What is it with you and Scott not seeing timeless classics? Star Wars and James Bond, you two really are a great pair.

Isaac lets out a short breath which is mostly just air through his nose; he leans his head against the window and texts back in a slow manner that is possibly (probably) pissing Stiles off.

ISAAC 3:40 PM  
My dad didn’t have much of a movie collection, Stilinski. Why are you using up my phone battery?

STILES 3:43 PM  
I’m just saying, if you don’t want anyone to know about you two, stop giving one another heart eyes like some sort of romantic comedy before  you run off to kiss in the rain. It’s gross.

Isaac snorts, which is rather loud, and he awkwardly turns the noise into a few coughs.

“You okay?” Scott asks, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as Lydia fiddles with the radio knob.

Isaac nods softly, blushing a little as he looks down at his phone and mumbles out that he’s fine before staring at the screen. He’s not sure what he should reply back with, but he knows if he doesn’t that he’ll never hear (or at least receive a few intense glares) the end of it. It seems too long and hard to explain; they’re trying to hide what they’re doing because all of it is one long test track, one road with a constant ‘under construction’ blinking sign. He glances up at the windshield to survey all the cars nearly at a parked standstill, occasionally honking. One car stuck in traffic with no hint of relief yet.

That’s what it feels like.

Not that he’s willing to explain any of that to Stiles.

ISAAC 3:48 PM  
It’s complicated.

That seems like a simple enough answer that’ll squash the conversation but Stiles rapid fires another response in a matter of a minute.

STILES 3:49 PM  
He’s just scared, you know.

Isaac sighs, runs a hand over his face because yeah, he knows that. He knows that and there’s absolutely nothing he can do to prevent or change it. Isaac knows fear like an old friend; it kisses and hugs his body in a cold embrace when he steps into a small room, when he wakes with sweat dripping down his back and his father’s voice ringing in his ears. But just because he knows what being scared feels like so well doesn’t mean he knows how to take it away from someone he cares about, from someone who doesn’t deserve to _feel_ that way.

Stiles obviously hasn’t picked up on that he’s done with talking about this because his phone lights up with another text message.

STILES 3:53 PM  
Take Lydia and I for example...she pretends that she can't stand me but in actuality she's just scared of her intense feelings for me.

Isaac isn’t sure whether he’s supposed to try and refute that or laugh so he just shakes his head, smiles slowly and sharply elbows Stiles in his side. The shorter grunts and when Scott looks back at them again Stiles mutters something about ‘Lahey’s stupid long limbs’.

ISAAC 4:00 PM  
…I’m pretty sure that’s not the same thing.

Stiles is only telling him something that he already knows. He understands that Scott’s scared…and it’s a hopeless sensation. Like when his father used to make him climb into the freezer of his own warped volition; a hopeless, drawn out, hollowing numbness that reminds him of someone plunging their hand into his chest cavity and scraping until nothing is left but that feeling.

He’s not sure if Stiles understands that he considers the conversation over but he doesn’t answer the text that flashes insistently on his screen. He tucks his phone back into his pocket and doesn’t look at it. Besides, they’re inching into a tunnel now anyways and the lack of signal would prevent him from sending anything back.

A moment of reprieve.

Or at least he thinks it’s going to be.

He doesn’t notice it at first. They’re slowly inching their way into the tunnel; it’s a long one, from what Isaac can see when he tilts his head to the right to look past Scott. Long and dark, no light at the end to see yet, just blaring horns and red taillights mixing with the yellow fluorescent above them making odd colors against the dash. It’s warm in the car, they had the windows down, but without the breeze of the open road it feels sort of muggy in a way, like humidity. It’s stifling and Isaac yanks on the collar of his t-shirt absentmindedly as he swallows.

The static cuts into the radio and Lydia winces as she rushes to turn the station off, the sound rubbing against Isaac’s eardrums and burning insistently into the back of his mind. He lets out a long breath, looks out the window and drums his fingers against his thigh. He doesn’t…feel right; like his limbs aren’t connected with his body and his head hurts, his chest is tight, he keeps yanking at his collar but that doesn’t seem to help with the constricting feeling.

Scott seems to notice something before anyone else; the four of them caught up in a conversation about the lake and if anyone had remembered to bring sunscreen.

“Isaac, you okay?”

Isaac can’t answer, couldn’t find his voice if he tried, it’s buried under his muscles and bones and his tongue is heavy, words are foreign.

He can’t breathe, like cinder blocks are resting on his chest. The jeep inches forward, he can hear people talking all at once and Stiles’ hands are on him (since when did his palms feel so cold?) and Allison sounds worried. Their voices are heavy, like there’s cotton in his ears or everyone is underwater…almost ironic since that’s exactly how he feels, like he’s submerged in a dark, small space in a submarine but no one can reach him.

The walls are closing in.

It’s gradual but then he finally senses it. The walls of the tunnel, of the _jeep_ , his ribcage closing in on his lungs and heart and he can feel his eyes flash gold, he can _see_ red and suddenly Scott is yelling at someone not to touch him and that they’re almost out of the tunnel and they’re _soclose_.

His claws are digging through the upholstery of the jeep and his fangs are bared and no, no one is making him get into that freezer, no, no, _no_ , not again.  He doesn’t know how long he’s in the tunnel or when they make it out, how much traffic Scott had to try and push through and what happened between when he saw bright maroon to the sun shining onto his face but suddenly the jeep is jerked to the side of the road and he swears he hears screaming (it might be his own, he doesn’t know, he can’t tell—everything is hypersensitive, everything is bright and his chest _aches_ and he just has to get _out_ of there).

Isaac snarls and snaps at someone who grabs his shoulders. “Isaac!” He growls and goes to slash at them with his claws just to get away; he has to _get away—_

“ _Isaac_.” Yellow eyes bore into him and seem to reach a part that’s locked deep down below his sternum…and something unhinges, falls free, there’s an audible and physical release.

He stops struggling to whoever is grasping him around his chest, smack against his back, eyes returning to a stormy ocean color, claws and canines disappearing as he blinks and looks up at Scott. He has his hands wrapped around Isaac’s shoulders, squeezing, thumbs pressing into his collarbones.

When Stiles lets go (he had been a wall of resolve behind him, holding him back so that he couldn’t get at Scott or Lydia and Allison, who are standing outside the jeep looking in) Isaac feels himself buckle forward. Scott lets him collapse into his chest, Isaac’s breathing heavy and deep, trying to calm himself down as his body detoxes from panic. He flinches as Scott’s hand travels up and down his back, his fingers pressing personal circles that only Stiles can see into his spinal cord. Isaac lets out a pathetic noise into the other boy’s chest before pulling away, wanting nothing else but to bury his face into his neck and _breathe_ him in completely.

“What happened?” He manages to choke out, glancing up at Lydia and Allison who are whispering (far too loudly, in his opinion, werewolf senses or not) and looking at him like some sort of bug stuck in a jar.

Stiles speaks up from behind him. “You were having a panic attack.”

Scott nods softly; Isaac can sense the worry on him. “Your claustrophobia in the tunnel set it off. I’m sorry, I should have…I should have realized that would happen.”

Isaac shakes his head, feels embarrassment discolor his pale cheekbones, looking down at Scott’s shoes. “It’s not your fault.” He mumbles, because it’s not. It’s not Scott’s fault that he can’t handle small spaces, that his lungs close up like he’s been chain smoking for forty years and that the lack of air and control makes him panic.

He’s just glad he didn’t hurt anyone like the last time his claustrophobia caused him to wolf out.

He glances at Allison out of instinct and she’s rubbing her wrist, the scars long faded from when he had attacked her in the storage closet at school, and he can tell with the action of her fingers on her skin that she’s thinking the same thing.

“It’s not _yours_ either.” Scott points out, tilting his head down a little so he can catch Isaac’s gaze, because he can smell the remorse building like blocks stacked neatly in his body and reflected in his eyes.

He lets out a long breath out through his nose, carding his fingers through his hair before massaging his temples. Isaac doesn’t respond to Scott’s comforting comment, not even sure what he _would_ say if he could manage to pull at the words stuck in the back of his mind. He merely looks up at the other and nods his head, because it feels like his fault. His father might have instilled it into him but what it comes down to is that _he_ is the one who can’t be in an enclosed space without nearly injuring anyone who might try and help him. He wonders if the other werewolf would feel differently about this situation if he had accidently hurt someone; especially Allison.

“You should sit up front.” Lydia offers, her voice soft and without a hint of the usual sassy edge that he’s used to hearing.

Isaac hates imposing on others more than anything. That’s why it had taken him so long to call his aunt for help when his father was still alive (not that it had helped much) and why it had taken him a week to settle into the McCall household—walking on egg shells, not unpacking his duffle bag and doing an obscene amount of chores. It wasn’t until Scott told him to knock it off because it was making him look bad and that his mom wasn’t going to kick him out if he didn’t do the dishes for one night.

“It’s really not necessary.” He’s mumbles even though Scott is nodding his head insistently.

“Isaac, do you think I’d be driving this piece of work if I had a decent cash flow?” Stiles pipes up from behind him and he doesn’t even respond because by his tone he can tell it’s rhetorical. “Sit up front; my jeep is like my appendage and I can’t take more pain.” He plays with the shredded leather of the driver’s seat from Isaac’s claws and frowns, obviously inferring that that’s an example within itself.

“You’re _going_ to be in more pain if you don’t shut up.” Scott grits his teeth, giving Stiles a look before the other makes a face and rolls his eyes.

They have a brief moment alone while Lydia steps to the side to call her mom before crawling back into the jeep and Allison moves to get in on the right side of the road next to Stiles. Isaac thinks Scott moves too fast but he’s not sure, the gesture is quick and light. Scott’s fingers brush through Isaac’s curls in a comforting motion and he _swears_ Allison sees it. Swears that he can hear her heartbeat skip like a stone skidding across a pond but it’s gone before he can concentrate to make sure.

“You sure you’re okay?” Scott asks again, his voice softer this time…affectionate. It makes bubbles line Isaac’s stomach and burst all at once, a fluttering sensation traveling up his chest.

He nods; making a mental note to tell Scott that he has to stop talking like _that_ (like he’s damn near _inlovewithhim_ ) in public. His heartbeat is steady and calm, so it’s not like he’s lying. Scott seems satisfied a moment later and helps him out of the jeep so Lydia can take his place as she finishes her phone call.

Scott steals the moment when they’re passing the trunk of the jeep to interlock their hands, lace their fingers, offering Isaac a few squeezes before he has to inevitably let him go so no one sees. He takes what he can get, accepts the small touches and the tension flowing from his body at being connected and so close to Scott. It has nothing to do with Scott using his werewolf mojo to take away his pain; it just…has to do with Scott as a _person_. He just has that sort of affect on people. He’s warm and his smiles are kind, he’s protective and he’s _safe_. Isaac never knew what he was really missing until he felt that…and now that he has it he never wants to let it go.

He feels his thumb brush over his wrist before he releases Isaac’s hand to open the jeep passenger door and he crawls inside, putting his seatbelt on as Scott and Lydia get in on the other side. Isaac leans back against the seat, trying to pick up on the emotions coming from the backseat.

He’s distracted by his phone lighting up with a message in his pocket; even though it’s on silent he can see the brightness of the screen through the fabric. He leans up again and takes it out, glancing at Scott as he starts the jeep and pulls it out into traffic again.

STILES  5:15 PM  
Everyone was trying to help you and it took Scott less than ten seconds to calm you down. It’s not complicated. You’re both just idiots.

Isaac contemplates ruining the other seat upholstery with his claws out of spite...except for the fact that Stiles is sort of right.

0o0o0o0o0

The cabin is beautiful when they finally manage to reach it, it’s tucked into the woods on an off road path labeled Hickory Way. The pines are thick and green, tall enough to reach the clouds in the sky and the shade they provide is cool and welcoming to Isaac’s lungs. The structure of the place itself sort of reminds him of the Hale house, but…not burnt to pieces and dilapidated with a ninety percent chance of killing him should he step on the wrong board. It’s a two story cabin, with rich dark wood that sort of looks like the color of syrup, lots of windows on the lower level to let in the sun and views of the lake that’s only a few feet away and hopefully enough space that they don’t have to pair up on rooms.

Scott parks the jeep next to the steps leading up to the porch, complete with a red swing that looks like it needs a new coat of paint but sturdy enough to still support a good amount of weight. There are small patches of sun peaking through the pine trees, illumining the clouds of dirt that stir under their feet as they all pile out of the confined space to stretch before grabbing their bags. Isaac sticks his hands in his pockets and looks out at the lake, which has a dock and is completely covered in sunshine, making the water sparkle and reflect brightly against his eyes.

He could definitely get used to this for a few days.

“I have so many memories here.” Scott says softly as he walks up next to him, the rest of the group hovering by the trunk of the jeep to retrieve their things.

Isaac turns his head and looks down at the boy next to him, wants to touch him somehow and has to ball his fingers to grab fabric from the pockets of his jeans to prevent himself from doing so.

“I want to show you a place later,” Scott looks up at him and smiles, gently bumping his shoulder into his arm. “Okay?”

“And miss the opportunity to hear Lydia and Stiles fight over what to make for dinner?” Isaac asks, making a face like it’s a difficult decision. “I guess I’ll work you into my schedule.”

“Such a gentleman.” Scott teases and Isaac laughs softly, turning to head to the trunk with him to help gather bags.

The inside, it turns out, is just as beautifully structured as the outside. As everyone carries in their bags (Lydia has the most with three large suitcases and Stiles is grunting under the weight of them) Isaac sets his one duffle down near the couch in the living room to look around. It’s one large room, a staircase and balcony to his right that overlooks the living room, connected dining room and fireplace. The large windows give a perfect view of the lake and he guesses the doorway leading out of the dining room has to be the kitchen. It’s very impressive for Stiles’ family; not that he’s saying a middle income family can’t have a beautiful place like this…he guesses he means that it’s just unexpected. Maybe Stiles has a rich aunt somewhere or this place was just inherited down from generations and the upkeep has been spot on.

“It was his mom’s.” Scott whispers as he steps next to him, like he can read Isaac’s mind.

Isaac glances over to Stiles and Lydia who are arguing over the fact that Lydia brought enough clothes for a week when they’re only here for three days, four tops. He doesn’t know much about Stiles’ mother, other than what Scott has told him. He lost her young, she was sick he thinks, and for some reason Isaac always wants to tell him that they have that in common—that he lost his mom too soon also but…it doesn’t seem like a worthy topic for discussion.

“It’s nice.” He says, because he’s not sure what else to say.

Scott grins at him in a way that always makes his stomach knot. “Wait until you see the kitchen. For someone who actually knows how to make something other than microwavable pizza bites, it’s probably close to heaven.”

“And here I thought you invited me for my company and weren’t exploiting me for my kitchen skills.”

“I don’t even like you that much.” Scott crinkles his nose and Isaac’s smile damn near tears his face in half because he can hear the distinct blip in Scott’s heartbeat that says he’s lying.

Stiles grabs both of their attention when he says that the kitchen is well stocked and that everyone will have their own bedroom…which is great because as long as Allison isn’t trying to sneak into Scott’s bedroom then Scott can sneak into his. They all head up when Stiles closes the front door of the cabin with his foot and juggles Lydia’s bags with his own as he tries to stumble up the stairs. Scott wanders towards a room to his far left and Isaac chooses the bedroom as close as he can without being embarrassingly obvious. He figures that all of the bedrooms have a different décor to them; in terms of his own it puts the shoebox of a room he had at his father’s house to shame.

The tall ceilings must be a product of the architecture because it seems to be a common theme with all the rooms at the cabin. The curtains on his windows are blood red and match the color of the flower pattern on his bedspread as he sets his duffle bag on it. He unpacks his things, mostly just his sundries that will go in his bathroom, but leaves the majority of it in his bag (out of habit, he guesses) and leaves his room to find Scott making full use of the dresser by his window. He’s stuffing clothes into the drawers in way that would probably make Mrs. McCall’s face light up in horror, the amount of wrinkles he’s going to get out of carelessness is enough to make Isaac wince in sympathy for her. He can hear her voice in his head, scolding Scott because ‘haven’t I taught you anything about folding clothes?’ and it almost makes him laugh.

When Scott disappears into his bathroom, obviously unaware of Isaac’s presence, the taller sneaks up behind him when he’s putting his toothbrush and toothpaste into the cabinet mirror that’s above the sink. He slides his arms around Scott’s middle, making him jump slightly and smirk before leaning back into the embrace.

“Weren’t you the one to tell me that it’s not polite to sneak up on people?” Scott asks wryly before closing the cabinet and revealing their reflection.

Isaac smiles and watches Scott’s face in the mirror as he squeezes him gently and tucks a kiss into the side of his neck, resting his chin on his shoulder.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t hear me coming; maybe you should practice some techniques that’ll help strengthen your hearing skills, grandpa.”

Scott turns on him before he can even contemplate what happened; suddenly he’s pinned against the bathroom door, which has closed due to the force of Scott turning their bodies and pushing him back against it. He’s not hurting him, just pressing his body smack against his own and preventing him from moving…not that he’s complaining.

Scott grins, his eyes are wild, gold flashing for a moment before he kisses the tip of his nose in a sarcastic manner.

“I’m not the one who needs practice,” He sing-songs, dipping his hips forward and making Isaac’s breath crawl up his throat. “Maybe _you_ should learn some techniques on reaction time.”

Isaac hums, licks his lips, they’re close enough that his tongue brushes Scott’s lower lip. “Maybe you can teach me.” Is all he says before he joins their lips.

Scott’s hands are yanking him forward into his body, fingers digging into his back and gathering the fabric of his shirt and tugging while Isaac’s dive into the other’s hair. Their lips mesh and their teeth click and Isaac moans softly when Scott’s tongue drags across his own—

then he smells it. A sharp hint of vanilla and then—

“Scott?”

Both of them freeze, panting softly against one another’s lips. It’s like their brains have to reset before Scott’s eyes widen because _fuckfuckfuck_ Allison is in his room.

Isaac doesn’t know whether to groan or swear as Scott hurriedly pulls back and tries to adjust himself before gently taking Isaac by his wrist to guide him to the corner of the bathroom. He opens the door and breathes out, laughs gently as he sees Allison and Isaac hides in a space near the shower and door and he hates the feeling of _shame_ that is pressing into his sides.

“Hey,” His voice is breathless and Isaac bites his lip. “What’s up?”

If Allison thinks anything is off it doesn’t show in her heartbeat or voice. “I was wondering, while it’s still light out do you want to take a walk by the lake?”

“Oh,” Scott clears his throat. “Sure, yeah that sounds nice. Let me just…turn the light off in the bathroom and put some of my stuff away and I’ll meet you downstairs?”

Isaac can literally hear Allison’s satisfied smile before she turns to walk out of the room and he glances at Scott as the other comes back into the bathroom, his cheeks red like his mom has caught him jerking off in his bedroom or something (which apparently has happened before, much to Isaac’s amusement when Scott had told him).

He moves from his corner and straightens out his shirt, smoothes his palms down over the fabric before licking his lips. They taste like Scott and it sends a pang of something he can’t name shooting painfully into his stomach.

Scott looks like he wants to apologize but doesn’t and instead leans up on his toes to gently kiss Isaac’s lips. “I’ll be back for you.” He says softly, referring to the fact that he still wants to show Isaac that place he had mentioned when they first got here.

Isaac nods, tries to smile like he isn’t jealous, angry and fucking _horny_ all at the same time and runs his fingers through his hair. Scott settles for one more kiss on his cheek before disappearing out the door and down the stairs.

This was going to be one _long_ three to four days.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Any comments or kudos are much appreciated :) I have a tumblr (blaineslahey) feel free to stop by and say hello!


	5. Sanguine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading this far! Hope you enjoy :)

It’s late when Scott and Allison get back; the sun has dipped past the horizon and the distinct sound of crickets buzz against his eardrums along with bugs zapping when they flitter against the light outside the front door. They’ve just finished up dinner; Stiles made homemade pizza (haphazardly, Isaac might add, at least it was distracting to try and watch him put something together that was actually edible) and left a few slices warming in the oven for the pair walking in. Isaac glances up as Scott comes into the kitchen, he smells like lake water, sweat and _Allison_ and the two of them are laughing over something that obviously had happened on their walk.

“Scott told me you can cook.” Stiles says and Isaac turns to look at him as he sits at the kitchen table. He can hear Scott and Allison set up their pizza from the oven on the island near the stove.

He’s not sure whether he’s genuinely interested or if he’s trying to distract him. “Are you trying to persuade me into making food the entire time we’re here?” He cocks his head to the side and nearly smiles. “My mom taught me a few things, I’m not…I’m not that good.”

“He’s _amazing_.” Scott speaks up from behind him, pizza in his mouth, moving to sit down next to Isaac. “He puts my mother’s eggs to shame.”

“I love breakfast food.” Allison adds as she sits down on the other side of Isaac; like the universe is playing some sort of cosmic joke on him.

“You better not let your mom hear that,” Isaac smiles softly, can’t help the slight teasing in his voice. “She’ll kick me to the curb.”

Scott snorts, chomps on his crust in a way that encourages Stiles to make a face. His ankle slides against Isaac’s shin, sort of tangling their legs but it’s discreet enough that if anyone saw they wouldn’t think much of it.

“You do all the cleaning in the house, she’s not letting you go any time soon,” Scott smirks. “Trust me.”

That, along with not unpacking his things and cooking, is just one of his habits. His father had liked a well organized house; the cleaner things were the less likely that Isaac spent the night in the freezer. He smiles softly at Scott’s comment and shakes his head, looking down at the cup of coffee he’s nursing and licks his lips. He figures he might as well answer Stiles’ comment since he’s the whole reason this conversation started.

“I can cook a few times, if you want. Least I can do for ruining the upholstery of your jeep.” 

Stiles makes a scoffing noise. “Like that’ll make up for the dam—” Scott kicks him swiftly under the table and the other makes a strangled noise. “Fine, fine. Alright. Good, whatever.”

When Allison finishes up her pizza she brushes her fingers on a napkin and wipes her mouth. “We should watch a movie or something.” She suggests.

Isaac’s fingers grip the outside of his mug and he can hear the ceramic buckling under his unintentional grasp. He knows exactly why she wants to watch a movie (probably a cheesy horror film) so she can cuddle up next to Scott on the couch. A perfect excuse to bury her face in his neck under the pretense of the nice walk they had and their ever budding friendship.

Color him not interested.

“That’s a good idea,” Scott replies, “But Isaac and I are going to go for a run first. You can start the movie without us, though.”

He turns his head to look at him, sort of confused but only showing it in his eyes. Scott smiles and lifts his eyebrows, nodding his head towards the woods that are just behind the back door at the end of the kitchen.

“Wolf stuff.” He says, like it’s as simple as that.

And Isaac grins, understanding. “Wolf stuff.” He repeats.

0o0o0o0o

Running transformed is cathartic in a way that he can’t quite put into words. Before he was turned, there was always this battle going on inside his body, inside his head. A constant struggle between remaining silent, weak (because his father hadn’t always been that way and there was a part of him, no matter how deep down that still loved him) and taking control, putting his foot down and standing up for himself because no, no one deserved what he had to go through.

Surprisingly enough that war in himself doesn’t disappear with the bite, it just warps into something different, the players have changed in a way and he’s constantly trying to balance his human side (the weak and timid, more rational) and his wolf (the side that’s animalistic, primal urges and unreasonably rash). When he transforms and runs, zipping past trees and fallen trunks, his claws digging into fresh earth and the moon reflecting against his gold eyes, the battle lines disappear. He feels free.

He feels powerful.

And in moments where he thinks he might lose himself completely he thinks about his father, about thunderstorms and Scott and that warm feeling in his chest blossoms outward, grounds him. He understands why he can’t get lost in the blurring of lines, why he needs an anchor to his human side, even though sometimes he just wants to spiral into the darkness of his nature and disappear completely in it.

He runs. The woods keep him company because he’s lost Scott long ago, though through the connectivity of their relationship, of their pack mentality, he can sense him somehow. He can pick up on his heartbeat thrashing in his chest as he runs, can almost smell him, can almost pinpoint him. Isaac doesn’t try, however, he just runs. The air is cool against his face; he can smell _everything_ , the dampness of the earth, the woodsy pine of the trees, animals that are dead and decaying, things that are still alive with their humming hearts and quickened breathing. He can hear for miles, all the way back to the cabin where Stiles is making Lydia and Allison laugh, can hear fish gliding through the darkness of the lake and owls hooting their haunting melody into the night.

Isaac stops a moment, doesn’t need to catch his breath but is sure he hears something; branches breaking on the ground and disturbing birds hidden in trees. He jerks his head to the right and waits—but nothing happens.

Until something tackles him to the ground from his left.

The force and surprise shifts him out of his wolf form, his human eyes blinking up at Scott who is straddling his waist and grinning at him. He’s transformed back too but his eyes are still gold, alluring in a way that makes Isaac’s teeth grind together.

“Gotcha.” He smirks and it’s almost ironic because that’s just what Scott does, jumps into his life when he least expects it and knocks him onto his ass. He changes _everything_.

“I let you do that.” Isaac insists, not willing to admit that he got the jump on him.

Scott just laughs until the taller hooks his leg around his waist and pushes, toppling him over and changing their position so he’s straddling his thighs now. Isaac leans down and pins his wrists to the dirt, leaning over him as he kisses his upper lip. Scott shimmies his hips down and Isaac’s breathing gets caught in his throat as something half hard connects with his cock…and it seems that’s all the distraction Scott needs because he snaps his thighs up and flips Isaac over his head and onto his back with a thud.

Scott snorts. “I suppose you let me do that too.”

He groans, trying to catch his breath which was effectively knocked out of him. “Shut up.”

Scott stands and brushes his jeans off, reaching out a hand to help Isaac up off the ground. “Come on, I want to show you something.” He doesn’t let go of Scott’s hand as they start walking and the shorter interlaces their fingers effortlessly.

There are a few moments of silence between them before Isaac clears his throat, “How was your walk with Allison?”

“Knew it was coming.” Scott mumbles but there’s at least a hint of a smile to his lips.

For some reason that makes him angry, he knows that he and Scott aren’t exactly anything but he has the right to question it, doesn’t he? Even if they were just friends that’s something he could have asked but the way Scott brushes the question off with a joking tone and a smile makes him feel sort of foolish, like he shouldn’t be asking or at least feel ridiculous _because_ he asked.

“You know,” Isaac stops and it forces Scott to stop too since they’re holding hands. “You’d be the exact same way if I was here with my ex-girlfriend.”

Scott opens and closes his mouth and then swallows, because he would be. Isaac _knows_ he would be.  He doesn’t need to be in a relationship with Scott to know that he’s the protective type, that he’s the slightest bit possessive of the people he loves.

“You had a girlfriend before?” Scott asks; he’s not surprised when Isaac nods his head—he can believe that someone like Isaac has been in a relationship before even though he’s never talked about it.

He shifts on his feet and shrugs his one shoulder. “For a little, freshman year.” He bites his lower lip. “She was in my history class but she moved away.” He rubs the back of his neck and avoids Scott’s gaze. “Besides, it’s not like…with my father I had a lot of time set aside for relationships anyways.”

“Did you love her?”

He’s not trying to pry, he can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s leading up to something and it’s not how Isaac dealt with his past relationship.

Isaac meets his eyes, the color a stone blue-gray. “No,” He shakes his head, loved the idea of her more than anything else. “No I didn’t.”

Scott licks his lips and nods. “Well I loved Allison. I still do just…it’s something that’s not going to go away.” He takes a step forward and hooks his finger under Isaac’s chin so he can’t look away. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not invested in figuring out what this is. And I’d tell you if something changed.”

Isaac swallows, understands what he’s alluding to, that it all boils down to one thing.

“You trust me, don’t you?” Scott’s eyes are wide; pools of concern and hope and if he doesn’t stop looking into them he’s going to fall hard and incredibly fast.

He doesn’t trust anyone _but_ Scott. “I trust you.” He says, clears his throat and pulls his chin away from Scott’s hand before nodding.

Promises, unspoken words, concerns and worries float in the air between their bodies, but neither tries to discuss them. They soak in the silence and continue walking, Scott’s thumb rubbing along his wrist every so often as they step over fallen trees and rocks. Isaac thinks it’s probably better that way even though that gray area just keeps getting more pronounced.

They’re about halfway back to the cabin when they stop at a dip in the earth near two trees, there’s a nature-made rock formation that overlooks a small hill. As they get closer to it, Isaac thinks it sort of looks like a cave, it smells dank and like wet earth and pollen. He scrunches his nose and rubs at it with the back of his wrist. Scott smirks softly as he looks over at him and tugs his hand to bring them closer, crouching down to inch forward so that they’re under the rocks. He’s surprised that both of their bodies manage to fit into the space, the cave-like structure isn’t very deep and the moon manages to illuminate the grass and fallen leaves around them to the point where it seems like the ground is glowing.

“My dad and I used to come here when we visited,” Scott tells Isaac, sitting against the wall of rock.

He watches with amusement as Isaac’s long and lanky body tries to adjust comfortably enough to sit across from him. Isaac has to duck his head a little so that it doesn’t hit the top of the rocks but dirt still manages to dust his curls. Scott smirks, reaching his other hand that’s not holding Isaac’s to brush it out and Isaac sneezes into his elbow, blinking at Scott.

Scott smiles warmly at him and laughs awkwardly. “Sorry, I uh, guess it seemed a lot bigger when I was younger.”

Isaac shakes his head, trying to make himself seem as relaxed as possible because he’s glad Scott wanted to show him this, wanted to share something of himself with him. Something that’s personal and close to his heart.

“It’s okay.” He assures him, squeezes his hand so he knows he can continue.

“We’d sneak out when everyone was asleep and sit here…my dad would call it the batcave.” He laughs and shakes his head, looking down at his hands. “Batman was my favorite cartoon.”

Bruce Wayne; a charming man who isn’t who he seems to be on the surface, his past touched by darkness, a defender of the people and the helpless, a symbol of hope—yeah, Batman seems appropriate for him to be Scott’s favorite.

 Scott swallows, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as his smile fades a little. Isaac understands the battle going on behind his expression, understands he wants to be happy about a memory that means so much to him but he’s upset that that recollection is merely that: a memory. The father he knew is gone and they’ll never have moments like that again.

Scott clears his throat and looks up at the sky as he leans out of the structure. “You can see the stars from here and we’d just…you know, count them or make up a bunch of names, pretend to see the bat signal in the sky.”

He runs his thumb over Scott’s knuckle and leans forward to press a kiss to the boy’s temple, the shorter closing his eyes at the sensation. Scott turns his head and Isaac can feel his breath skitter across his lips as their foreheads rest together. He kisses him gently, trying to comfort him the best way he can. Scott appreciates it, he responds and eventually pulls back, brushing his lips over the bridge of Isaac’s nose before leaning back against the rock again.

Scott sighs. “I just don’t understand why he left; my mom and I never really talk about it. She says she’s over it, over him but…I can tell how it’s still sort of painful for her.” He licks his lips and runs a hand over his forehead. “Sometimes I think it’s because he wasn’t happy.”

Isaac finds that hard to believe; he’s only been in the McCall household for a few long weeks now and after day two he was envious of Scott’s family, regardless that he only had a mother. The warmth and love that the two of them damn near _glow_ with is something he’s been craving for since his mom died. With Scott and Mrs. McCall, it’s _easy_ to be happy. He doesn’t have to search for it; it’s not some sort of weighted effort like before. It just comes naturally. 

He hates that Scott doesn’t know about his father’s true intentions, that he’s left with his mind wandering on thoughts too ridiculous to be true. That Scott thinks his father left because he wasn’t happy, that maybe it’s somehow _his_ fault. It’s heartbreaking, he hates it, it fills him up inside and leaves him with that hopeless feeling again.

“Its hard thinking that I wasn’t…good enough for him to stay, you know?” Scott chokes out and Isaac has had enough, he squeezes his hand hard and pulls him forward a little, shaking his head insistently.

“No,” He says, firmly.

He cups Scott’s face and runs his thumb along his cheekbone, along a non-existent tear track that he’s trying to take away. His veins bleed black and Scott gasps softly as a certain amount of pain is lifted off of his heart, flows directly into Isaac’s skin. It’s for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough, and Scott breathes easier than before.

Isaac swallows, his gaze looking down at his lips before connecting their eyes again. “Don’t ever think that.” His voice is soft, like the dark is muting it somehow.

But Scott feels better, he can tell just by the brightness returning to his eyes and the small smile lines shifting under Isaac’s palm on his face.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Scott breathes, glancing at Isaac’s hand as settles back down on his lap between them.

It’s not like Scott hasn’t done the same thing to him even though he thinks Isaac hasn’t noticed. When he wakes up in the middle of the night from a horrific nightmare and can’t get back to sleep because he’s shaking so hard. Scott’s arms are around him, trying to calm him down, his open palm sliding up the sweat drenched t-shirt on his back so there’s skin to skin contact. He knows he’s done it before, remembers how it feels when Scott takes a little bit of his pain away, how his anguish disappears, how his breathing slows, how his chest aches just a little bit less. Neither of them has ever said anything about it, probably because Scott doesn’t want Isaac to know and Isaac just lets it go because he feels calm and good and he can _breathe_ again.

So Isaac just shakes his head and gives him a soft smile. “Yes I did.”

0o0o0o0o0o

They take their time getting back to the cabin, getting lost on purpose, double backing their steps and walking in circles so that they have more time with one another, the darkness of the night and the moon the only things keeping them company. They fill the silence between them by talking about random things; Isaac asks about summers spent here (after he thanks him for showing him the ‘batcave’, the coined nickname making Scott grin) and Scott tries to tread lightly on asking if Isaac’s ever been on vacation with his family before his mom and brother died and the dad he loved disappeared. Scott talks about how his dad taught him how to fish and Isaac says no, he’s never been anywhere outside of Beacon Hills, and that vacations consisted of visiting his grandparents or extensive nights filled with popcorn, blankets and scary stories in tents out in his backyard.

“Think anyone will notice if we sneak in through the back and go upstairs? I’m not in the mood for a movie.” Scott smiles at Isaac as he turns around, walks backwards slowly so he can look at him as Isaac replies.

He sighs; looks through the trees as they reach the clearing into the backyard of the cabin, the lights are dim. He can hear the TV playing and three strong heartbeats gently tha-thumping within the walls.

“I think Stiles would call us on it.” He squeezes Scott’s hand. “But…we could say we have to take showers. I mean, I’d believe it, you smell gross.”

Scott scoffs and stops in his tracks, smacking the other’s shoulder. “You don’t exactly smell like roses either, Lahey.”

“Well, with an attitude like that you’re going to be showering alone.” Isaac smirks, earning a grin from Scott as the shorter takes a step forward and leans up a little on his toes.

Isaac leans down and wraps his arms around Scott’s waist, his fingers pressing his lower back and dipping to graze the swell of his ass.

“Showering together doesn’t sound like we’d be getting any cleaner.” Scott points out, his lips brushing Isaac’s as he speaks.

“Doesn’t sound like you’d complain about it.” He whispers, basically breathes against Scott’s mouth before kissing him lightly.

A sharp noise cuts through the air and makes Scott hesitate slightly as they kiss. He can hear it too but it sounds far away, only heightened by their werewolf hearing. It doesn’t sound threatening, like an animal or something stepping on leaves and grass and breaking twigs.

“Did you hear that?” Scott asks as he pulls back, eyes focused into the woods. He starts to walk over to the gathering of trees and bushes, using his nose and other senses to try and explain the sound.

Isaac follows close behind, figures if Scott is determined to track down the noise then he should at least control his dick in his pants to help. This cabin is really starting to turn into ‘How to Cockblock Isaac Lahey: A guide’. First Allison and now this phantom noise, couldn’t they just catch a break?

Scott dips into the woods again, shoulders tense and body alert like something might pop out at them. Then he sees something, wedged into the trunk of a tree about a few feet away from where they had been standing. An arrow.

Ice runs through Isaac’s veins as he runs behind Scott to get to the tree, the other werewolf yanking it out of the bark. The arrow comes out easily, which means that it either wasn’t shot close range or that it’s been encased there for a long amount of time, the weather loosening its hold in the wood. He swallows and glances around, his muscles and bones attentive and prepared now, geared for an attack because it’s just what he’s used to.

“You don’t think it’s…” He looks over at Scott, the question hanging in the air.

Scott is studying the arrow, his eyebrows crinkling together as his fingers run along the body of it. He’s not howling in pain so it’s not doused with wolfsbane and he hates how his mind instantly has to go there.

The shorter shakes his head, looks up at him. “I think…” He trails off a moment, looks around at the area surrounding them and then lets out a long breath. “I think we’re too paranoid.”

That isn’t the response he is really expecting to come out of him. Isaac shifts and takes the arrow from his fingers and holds it in his palms like that’ll somehow spark some sort of answer.

“After everything we’ve been through I think we jump to conclusions that it’s bad news right away.”

Isaac gives him a skeptical look. “That’s because it usually _is_ bad news.” He deadpans.

“I’m just trying to be…sanguine.”

He lifts his eyes to look at Scott who is smiling cheekily at him, obviously proud. Isaac snorts and shakes his head. “SAT word of the day?”

Scott just grins and Isaac is glad that he’s being a little bit cocky about it; cockiness smells a lot like arousal and happiness mixed together. It’s pungent and it’s probably weird that he thinks so, but it sort of smells _good_ on Scott. It makes him want to grab him and kiss him hard and have his hands explore the contours of his body. It’s not Isaac’s fault that it’s absolutely ridiculous and sort of cute how happy Scott can get when he manages to use a SAT word correctly in a sentence.

“I’m just saying,” There’s still a hint of a smile on Scott’s face. “That it’s probably just a hunter’s arrow. You know a…normal, run of the mill, hunts bunnies and bambi…hunter.”

Isaac wants to believe that’s true, wants more than anything to think that this arrow is just a product of some hunter, one that’s _not_ after anything supernatural, wants to believe that they actually do have some sort of reprieve out here at this cabin. That for just three days they don’t have to think about an alpha pack or the high percentage of dying, that the weight of the world can just ease off of Scott’s shoulders and that Isaac can help with that.

But that’s a hell of a lot of luck and if Isaac’s learned anything it’s that his life has never exactly been in large supply of that. Though he guesses living with the McCall’s and doing…whatever it is that he’s doing with Scott can be the exception.

He looks up at Scott to tell him that he’s not so sure and that maybe they should tell the others or try to research the area and the arrow, just to be cautious but…the look in the other’s eyes is so…hopeful and he just, he _can’t_ seem to get the words out from underneath his tongue, he can’t be the one to crush that.

So he nods and tosses the arrow aside, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Scott mimics his nod while taking his hand, squeezing reassuringly as they walk back to the cabin. It looks like he has no other choice but to remain sanguine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read :3 I hope you liked it! Feel free to leave me any comments or even if it’s just to say if you had a favorite part! I have a tumblr (blaineslahey) stop by and say hello….or talk to me about Scisaac I mean honestly, like I need an excuse to talk about them ;)


	6. Your lips taste like reassurances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, NC-17 rating rings true for this chapter. Thank you to all who are reading, for one, and who are taking the time to leave a comment to tell me how you liked it :) I really appreciate it. Here’s chapter 6, enjoy!

After their showers (which take a lot longer than either of them expect, probably because Scott kept ‘accidently’ sliding his hand along Isaac’s ass while reaching for shampoo and conditioner and one thing led to another and then _another)_ both of them get dressed in comfortable sweats and simple t-shirts and head downstairs. Scott smells like crisp body lotion, old spice and cinnamon, Isaac’s hair smells like Scott’s shampoo and both of them overwhelmingly smell like _eachother_ —from heated kisses and fingers and tongues on skin and an extended period of time spent in one another’s arms.

They can hear Allison laughing as they enter the living room, bottles of empty beer scattered across the glass table in front of the couch. A movie is playing in the background as Stiles animatedly tells a story about how he was put in the back of a police car (by his father no doubt) and how Scott was there and how every dumb idea they come up with sounds groundbreaking at the time. Isaac shakes his head and glances at the TV screen as he leans his hands on the back of the couch, he’s pretty sure _Friday the 13 th_ is playing but he’s not sure, he’s only seen that movie once and he constantly, for some reason, confuses it with _Halloween_.

Lydia squeals as she sees them. “They’re back!”

“We’ve been back for a while now.” Scott chuckles, taking a seat on the floor against the couch. He grabs a beer from Stiles and pops it open, taking a long sip. “I see you managed to pack all the essentials.” He jokes, motioning to the bottles on the table.

Stiles shrugs. “What’s a cabin in the woods without beer?”

Scott shakes his head and glances up at him, trying to motion to sit next to him on the floor but Isaac declines easily. He’s about to excuse himself to go to bed but Allison stands, sways, and he has to steady her which earns him a grin.

“I say we play a game of spin the old bottle.”

Stiles snorts and sits up in the chair, sipping from his beer. “Someone is tipsy.” Lydia laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

Isaac swallows and holds onto Allison because he’s afraid if he lets go she’s going to topple head first into the glass table. This doesn’t sound like a great idea.

“It’ll be a really quick game,” Scott points out. “There are only five of us here.”

Allison giggles; starting to move the glass table aside and Stiles stands and helps her so that they have the center of the room to sit. “So it’ll be a quickie, I don’t mind.”

Isaac’s eyes widen before a noise exits his throat; no, no, this was _not_ a good idea.

Lydia sits on the floor next to Scott, pulling Stiles down with her. Allison plops down beside him and pats the space next to her, looking up at Isaac. “Come on Lahey, the floor is warm.”

He rubs the back of his neck and glances at Scott, who looks up at him with a small warm smile and a soft nod of his head. He sighs, the confirmation from the other helps but…he still feels like this is only going to cause more problems in terms of their…whatever it is that they’re doing. It’s not like werewolves can even effectively get drunk, so this isn’t going to be any fun for either of them (unless Scott has a fetish for watching other people kiss that he doesn’t know about) but grabs a beer anyways and takes a large sip. The most they can get from drinking is a buzz, the distinct humming warmth of alcohol sliding easily into their veins. But that feeling never goes anywhere, it doesn’t get deeper or more intense, just a steady tipsy feeling that plays with his nerve endings.

Isaac can’t help but feel awkward as Lydia picks up an empty bottle to place in the middle of the floor and he knows it has something to do with his lack of a social life before he became a werewolf.  It’s not like many people were inviting him to parties or asking him out when they saw the purple bruises coating his face and arms. After the bite that changed, sort of, he grew comfortable in his own group of people. This stupid kissing game makes him miss Erica, he can see her smirking at him in his mind’s eye—probably just waiting for the opportunity where she could make out with him or Scott. Or better yet Stiles. It almost makes him smile. But regardless of how comfortable he feels around Scott’s pack, it still rests sickly in his stomach; nervousness, even as he feels Scott gently brush his shoulder against his because he must feel it too.

What if he has to kiss Scott and everyone notices that they’ve done it before?

Lydia breaks his thoughts when she clears her throat. “I play this game a little differently.” She grins. “When the bottle lands on the person, you have to tell the group if you’ve kissed before. And then _after_ the kiss you have to rate it.”

 Isaac rolls his eyes, because why can’t this just be easy?

Scott grabs the bottle and tips it forward. “Who wants to go first?”

Allison takes the bottle from his hand and volunteers herself with another sip of her own beer. Isaac watches as she places the bottle on the floor and gives it a gentle spin, bouncing a little on her legs that are tucked underneath her as she watches it slow down and point at no one other than…Scott. His stomach drops as Allison grins, crawls on her knees towards Scott who is leaning back against the couch, eyes wide.

“Last time we kissed was…” She tries to think and settles onto Scott’s lap. Isaac is pretty sure he’s going to be sick, he squeezes the bottle of beer in his hand and he’s almost certain he hears the glass crack under the pressure.

“When we broke up.” Scott offers, keeping his hands at his sides as Allison settles in closer, sets her hands on his shoulders.

Her lips are grazing Scott’s and Isaac _can’t_ look, his head turning away as their lips meet. He tries to make it as discreet as possible, his eyes glued to the television like something interesting is actually happening. His body is on overdrive, can feel the wolf snarling with jealousy behind his ribcage, his eyes threatening to glow a distinct yellow and give him away. He licks his lips and focuses, even though that sort of makes it worse, because all of his senses slam into him. He can smell Allison’s perfume, a hint of sweat on Scott’s skin, can sense Lydia’s honeysuckle amusement and Stiles’ pungent sympathy, can hear their lips smacking, Allison’s tongue dipping into Scott’s mouth for more, can hear everyone’s heartbeats and his own knocking against his ribcage.

When they’re done kissing, it feels like hours, and Isaac can feel satisfaction rolling off of Allison in waves—it feels like needles prickling against his skin. He glances up and sees that Lydia’s eyes are on him, watching him…he can see the confusion in her eyes and something else, intrigue maybe, he’s not sure. It’s gone as soon as it appears and he swallows and takes a sip from his beer to distract himself as Allison rates Scott’s kiss with a perfect ten, just as she remembers.

Scott feels flustered beside him, his cheeks are a bright pink and his lips are red and wet. His pulse is thrumming wildly in his neck and Isaac resists snarling as he reaches for the bottle to spin for his turn.

The bottle spins for what seems like forever and lands on Lydia. The universe is definitely against him.

“We’ve never kissed before.” Isaac says, setting his bottle down as he follows the stupid rules set in place and inches closer to her. He can feel Scott’s eyes on his back.

“But that doesn’t mean you haven’t thought about it.” Lydia smiles as Isaac settles in front of her before letting out a long breath and moving in to kiss her.

He thinks kissing Lydia will close some sort of chapter in his life. He can remember asking her out freshman year, how embarrassed he was when she laughed at him and told him to come back when his bike had an engine instead of a chain. He’s come full circle, or something, he’s a different person than when he asked her out—he’s stronger now, his father no longer tortures him, he’s part of a loving family and he knows and understands and almost thinks he deserves what love _feels_ like.

 Kissing Lydia should feel like closure…but it just sort of feels wrong. He can feel Stiles next to him, he’s burning with anger, the kind of fire that Isaac recognizes and knows. She tastes like strawberry lipbalm, beer, a sort of sweetness that he can’t name and desperation.

He can’t quite determine how Scott is feeling but when he pulls back and sits back down but the boy’s hand is flexing next to him like he wants to grab a hold of him possessively, his face is flushed, eyes playing with the concept of flashing gold.

It makes Isaac want to smile because Scott is _jealous_. Scott finally understands what Isaac feels like when he sees him with Allison, when he had to watch them leave for their walk and listen to them kiss. And…well, maybe this game isn’t such a bad idea after all.

“Well, well Lahey, if I would have known you could kiss like that I might have said yes to that date you asked me out on.” Lydia licks her lips, her rating hidden within her words. It hurts him to see that Stiles looks dejected at that response, glancing at his bottle of beer like he wants to crawl inside of it.

“Raincheck has expired.” Isaac smirks, satisfied at least that that manages a small smile out of Stiles.

The game continues for an hour, the movie has long ended and some sort of infomercial station has taken its place. Isaac is enthralled by a salad spinner they keep advertising and Scott has to keep elbowing him to pay attention, which he doesn’t mind, because he thinks the shorter just wants to touch him anyways.

Stiles has to kiss Scott (and apparently, much to everyone’s amusement they had kissed before when they were younger and it was all a mistake, something about experimenting and poison ivy and the kiss they share on the floor is awkward. Allison keeps making whooping noises and Lydia takes a picture on her cell phone), Lydia has to kiss Allison (and wow, that’s a lot hotter than Isaac realizes it’s going to be—needless to say all boys are quiet when their lips meet and he’s pretty sure his jaw is on the floor when they pull away), and just when Isaac is about to take the last turn of the night…

the bottle lands on Scott.

Stiles chokes on a sip of his beer and Allison’s eyes widen like she’s not ready to watch what’s about to happen but the hint of arousal seeping out of her pores is confusing him. It might be jealousy and he’s just confusing the scents, he’s a bit tipsy and more than ready for this stupid game to be over. Isaac turns his body to look at Scott, who is nursing his last few sips of beer, bringing the bottle to his lips and _obscenely_ taking a long sip before smiling at him.

What a _dick_.

Isaac clears his throat and sets his beer down. “We’ve never kissed before.” He says, his heart skips with the white lie that’s leaving his lips and he’s suddenly very glad that the only other werewolf in the room is Scott.

Scott taps his beer bottle against Isaac’s knee before humming. “Let’s get this over with.”

He leans closer to him as he sets his bottle aside and tentatively grazes their lips before closing his eyes to press their mouths together in earnest. The kiss is slow at first, familiar in a way that makes Isaac’s stomach clench. He tries to make it awkward, tries to make it feel like it’s off and uncomfortable. It’s probably not conveying anything that he actually wants it too but it’s not his fault kissing Scott feels like coming home.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he sets them on Scott’s knees—and that seems to be a mistake because Scott dips his head forward and a gasp crawls up his throat because Scott’s hands are now on his _waist_. He feels like he might start panicking but Scott’s fingers are firm on his hip bones, telling him to relax…and he settles back because this must be just for show. It has to be.

Scott is the one who doesn’t want anyone to know about them, he’s the one that keeps putting off _defining_ this thing…and this kiss is getting deeper and if they don’t stop soon they’re not going to be able to backtrack from it.

Isaac pulls back after a moment, cheeks slightly pink and lips wet and breathing somewhat heavily against Scott’s mouth. Scott’s fingers leave his hips and he licks his lips, clearing his throat as he rubs the back of his neck and glances around at everyone. Isaac doesn’t want to meet eyes with anyone else; he already knows how everyone is _feeling_ without looking at them.

Lydia is laughing into her fourth bottle of beer. “Well, I don’t have to be a human lie detector to know that you’ve done _that_ before.”

Allison’s eyes are wide, glancing between Scott and Isaac before Stiles snorts awkwardly. “Yeah, right. Please. Scott isn’t even that _good_ of a kisser.”

And that seems to let air back into the room, the tension is gone because Scott is laughing and shoving Stiles in the shoulder and Allison is giggling even though her eyes are still filled with something like caution and doubt but he can’t pick one for certain.

Isaac nods along with Stiles, smiling as best he can as he feels Lydia’s gaze on him again. “I give him a four out of ten, at best.”

Scott laughs hard, bends at his waist, the sound traveling right up Isaac’s spine and warming his chest. “And you’re a ten?” He scoffs. “I was drowning in salvia. Next time don’t use your tongue.” He teases.

And everyone is laughing again, bottles of beer spilling over as the room fills with sounds of their carrying on—but Isaac still feels it, the awkward tension in his shoulders and the slight dipping sensation filling his belly. It’s a sick feeling, curling in the bottom of his stomach, heavy as lead.

It feels a lot like something is slipping from his grasp, like sand through his fingers.

0o0o0o0o

He doesn’t go into Scott’s room until late, when he’s sure that everyone is asleep. He lies in bed for a few hours, clocks the three heartbeats and waits until their breathing is shallow and slow before he throws the covers off and sneaks into the room next to his own.

His feet gently pad on the hardwood floor as he closes the door, slides his shirt off and carefully steps over Scott’s shoes and jeans (not surprising that this bedroom is going to end up looking like his own for the short time he’s here, which means his belongings are strewn about on any viable surface) and approaches the bed slowly to crawl inside.

There is a space for him even though Scott is taking up both sides of the mattress by lying smack in the middle, his one arm stretched out as the other rests across his middle. Isaac doesn’t want to wake him, he can sense he’s teetering between falling asleep and waking up, caught somewhere in the middle as he waits for Isaac to join him but he knows the minute he gets into bed or pulls the covers back the reaction is going to be inevitable.

He sighs and gently tugs the sheet wrapped around Scott’s waist and he stirs, makes a small noise and whispers his name. Isaac smiles and crawls into bed, sliding up against the other’s warm body. Scott makes no move to shift his position; instead he draws him closer and presses his face into Isaac’s neck as he molds into his side. The shorter breathes out, the air tickling his neck and Isaac turns his head to brush his lips in Scott’s hair.

“Took you long enough.” Scott mutters, voice streaked with sleep.

Isaac smirks, running his fingers along the back of Scott’s hand that moves to rest on his stomach. “I wanted to make sure everyone was asleep.” He whispers, kissing Scott’s head. “Sorry if I woke you.”

Scott makes a noise like it doesn’t matter and leans further into Isaac’s side, almost turning completely onto his stomach as his arm stretches even more across the his abdomen. They’re quiet for a while, Isaac listens to his breathing, enjoys the warmth of his body pressing neatly against his own, his heartbeat slowing as the Scott’s eyelashes brush against the skin of his neck.

“Are we going to talk about what happened?” Isaac asks.

“What do you mean?” His voice is muffled against his neck and he hates to bring it up but if he doesn’t night will fade into day, human hangovers will take priority and he’ll lose his nerve.

It’s bothering him and he should be able to talk to Scott about it, right? “About our spin the bottle kiss.”

Scott sighs and sits up a little, shifts to lie on his stomach and hovers over his body. He kisses the Isaac’s chest absentmindedly, like he’s trying to avoid the question at hand. Isaac cards his fingers through Scott’s hair and scrubs at his scalp, a content noise leaving Scott’s mouth.

His nose dips into Isaac’s sternum and breathes in his skin and after a moment he looks up at him with a small frown tugging the lines of his face. “You’re upset.”

Isaac licks his lips and looks down, letting out a long breath. Sometimes he hates talking to other werewolves; he can’t control or contain his emotions. He can’t hide behind unsaid words because it’s out in the open on his face, or in his heartbeats or how his emotions _smell_. It’s beyond frustrating sometimes. It’s like he always has a billboard on his head projecting how he feels, without permission, never having to open his mouth to say it in so many words.

“I’m not…” He suddenly feels overheated with Scott’s body on his so he sits up and knocks the other aside, Scott turning to his back before he sits up. “I’m not upset.”

“I can smell it on you—”

“Would you stop it?” Isaac interrupts swiftly, his voice an octave higher but not loud enough that he could wake anyone. “I hate it when you do that, stop trying to _read_ me like a damn book.”

Scott looks hurt, which Isaac hates more than anything. He’s the one that’s supposed to take that look _off_ his face, not put it there. But he’s just so _frustrated_ with this dance that they’re doing; he keeps feeling like he’s going through some sort of emotional whiplash. They’ve gone from being enemies, to friends, to something more, to something less, to hiding what they are from their friends because Scott’s not ready, to making out like they’re trying to spell it out with the sound of their kisses and the grabbing of their hands on one another.

“I’m sorry.” Scott says, inching towards him. He doesn’t want Scott’s apology, is ashamed of the way he snapped at him anyways.

It’d be better if Scott was angry at him or even yelling; Isaac can deal with anger. It’s easier somehow, less messy and his wolf always enjoys the slow and steady build up of adrenaline.

Isaac shakes his head and sighs, pulling the sheets up over his waist before running a hand over his face.

“I get it,” Scott whispers, placing his hands on Isaac’s forearms and the taller scoffs because, no, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t. “I’m sure it was hard seeing Allison and I kiss.”

And that’s what’s funny because he couldn’t even _watch_ them kiss and he thinks that maybe hearing it was worse because his mind wandered about what it looked like; if Allison was gripping Scott’s shoulders or if Scott was cupping her face.

“But you know,” His thumbs rub the soft skin on the inside of his elbows. “It wasn’t exactly easy for me to see you suck face with Lydia, either.”

Isaac smiles softly and shakes his head, closing his eyes when Scott leans forward and nuzzles his nose against his cheek. All the anger and frustration seems to fade away with one simple touch and he has to wonder if Scott does that on purpose because he doesn’t want to fight. He just sighs and buckles because Scott’s body is warm and pressed against his and his hands start to rub his thighs and maybe it’s okay to remain in the gray area of relationship limbo even though his body tells him, _screams_ at him, not to settle.

But—

this thing with Scott, though confusing, is good and safe and he deserves to feel like that, even for a little, doesn’t he? He can push away the daunting pull of reality like this cabin in the woods for three days is ignoring the drama that’s waiting for them back home. In the back of his mind he has his insecurities and his worries but it’s all lost in the warmth of Scott’s skin and the brush of his breath on his jawline and the way his lips move against his own when he turns his head to capture them in a kiss.

 Isaac leans forward and forces Scott to lie down on is back, moving swiftly to cover his body with his own. His legs lace with Scott’s, one slotting between the shorter’s thighs; he purposely moves his knee up to graze his balls and kisses Scott deeper when that elicits a moan. He rocks forward, his hands lacing in his hair as Isaac slides his tongue into his mouth to roll against Scott’s. He pulls back and pants gently against the other’s lips, nipping at his lower one before dipping his head to kiss at his neck. Isaac sucks hickies into Scott’s skin, deep purple bruise marks that fade mere moments after indenting his pores. He glances up at Scott as he slides down his body, his nose dragging along the other’s sternum and presses his lips into the space below his belly button.

Isaac breathes heatedly against Scott’s lower stomach, smiling slowly at him as Scott glances down at him with lidded eyes. “Would you rather I suck something else?” He smirks, referring back to Scott’s previous comment about kissing Lydia.

He licks his lips and breathes in Scott’s skin, doesn’t wait for a response before he’s sitting up and yanking down the other’s sweatpants. When he pulls the material down to his ankles, Scott spreads his legs to accommodate Isaac’s body, the taller sinking between his thighs and kissing near his knee. He sneaks his tongue out to taste his skin, memorizes the hint of Scott’s body lotion, something earthy, a hint of sweat and tinges of arousal. Scott grunts as Isaac’s nose brushes the bottom of his sack, his fingers digging into the mattress with anticipation.

“Come _on_.” Scott whines, looking down at Isaac who is grinning up at him.

Isaac leans up on his elbows to look down at Scott’s body, he’s panting gently, his cock resting prettily against his stomach, already hard, head beet red and leaking pearl white precum onto his skin. He shudders, moves to kiss and nip at his hips, baring his teeth to drag along the bone.

“I distinctly remember you telling me not to use my tongue next time.” Isaac murmurs, teasing him because he can. He blows on the tip of Scott’s member, making it jerk in earnest as Scott lets out a low moan.

“You asshole,” Scott hisses, fingers flexing like he’s about to grab himself because Isaac is taking too fucking long. “You know I was just pulling _your_ —”He sucks in air, his sentence effectively cut off as Isaac slides his mouth down onto him, taking in the head of his cock.

The more Isaac takes the more guttural Scott’s noises become, low moans of pleasure that sound from deep in the male’s throat. His fingers dig into the sheets as his hips jerk up, Isaac’s hand holding the base of Scott’s cock and rubbing his thumb over his balls as he slides his tongue down the throbbing vein along his shaft. He bobs his head before taking him deep in his throat, humming softly while tugging his balls and has to pull back at the sound that leaves Scott’s mouth.

“You have to be quiet.” Isaac smirks, shaking his head as Scott whimpers, his hips rolling towards Isaac’s mouth. “Can you do that?” He whispers, kissing up Scott’s happy trail before sliding his tongue along his belly button.

“Fuck, _Isaac_.” He moans, nodding his head because he can keep quiet. Or rather, he has to or Isaac is going to stop—the last thing he wants is Allison walking in while he’s sucking her ex-boyfriend off. A kiss between beers and bottles is one thing…blowjobs and sneaking around while she ‘rebuilds bridges’ with him is another.

Isaac settles back down between Scott’s legs again, lifting himself up a little to tease the tip of his cock with his mouth as his hand sneaks into his own sweatpants. He’s incredibly hard and aching to be touched, the fabric of his boxer briefs driving him absolutely crazy. He feels confined, leaking against his stomach, throbbing as he tastes Scott in his mouth—hot, the weight of him between his lips, the hint of sweat and _sex_ beading on his tongue. He jerks himself off quickly, wrist twisting as he glances up at Scott and feels him tense, knows he’s close, can tell by the tautness of the muscles in his thighs and the quick snaps of his diaphragm, heart slamming against his ribcage as his eyes close.

Scott’s fingers wind through Isaac’s curls as he takes him deep again, ignoring his gag reflex and hums. He groans as Scott’s hips jerk forward and he cums hard, shooting strings of white into the back of his throat. Isaac swallows easily, pulls back with an audible pop before kissing up Scott’s chest, lips sliding across his nipple before he buries his face in his neck. He pants heavily as a moan slips from his lips, muffled against Scott’s skin. His hips snap into his hand before he falls apart, unravels as Scott lazily strokes his hair, his body buckling into the one underneath him. They lie there for what feels like hours, heartbeats slowing, breathing evening out, small sounds of contentedness leaving their lips and fluttering against skin every so often.

The silence between them is filled with peppered kisses and soft sighs as they clean up, Isaac has to go to his room to brush his teeth and change his sweats and boxer briefs but he doesn’t mind because there really is nothing worse than waking up to the stickiness of dried cum.

He crawls back into bed a few minutes later and Scott is already half asleep, tucked into the sheets and curled onto his side, facing the middle of the bed. Isaac sighs and pulls the blankets up over his shoulder, wrapping his arm around Scott’s waist to draw him into his chest. Scott complies easily, burying his face into the soft skin of Isaac’s neck as the other’s nose dips into his hair.

He breathes in, slowly and evenly, feels Scott’s heartbeat beat calmly against his chest.

“If we have to play another game while we’re here I’m suggesting Seven Minutes in Heaven and using what we just did as a point of reference.” Isaac mumbles, smirking.

Scott smiles against Isaac’s throat and merely chuckles. He falls asleep as he thinks about how he loves the vibration of Scott’s laughs against his body and the sensation of their chests brushing when he breathes.

000o0o0o

 _Snap_.

Isaac’s eyes shoot open at the sound, his senses suddenly alert as he slowly sits up in bed. Scott shifts beside him but doesn’t wake up, turns away from Isaac’s body and sighs. He listens, swallowing as his fingers grip the sheets. His heartbeat is in his ears; he’s so used to having nightmares that he’s not sure if that sound was in a dream or if it was actually the reason he woke up. He waits for a long moment, glances over at Scott who is breathing deeply, back muscles tensing and relaxing against the pale moonlight shining in through the window. He runs a hand over his face and is about to lie down and go back to sleep when he hears it again—

a distinct _snap stepsnap_ , right outside the window.

He hurriedly pulls himself from bed and rushes to the window next to the bathroom, pulls the curtain aside and looks down at the woods behind the cabin. The trees and bushes are quiet in the darkness, motionless, the world asleep in the wee hours of the morning. He turns his head to squint at the clock; it reads four AM. Isaac sighs softly and turns his attention back out the window; he definitely heard something. He’s not sure whether his senses are on overdrive because the sound woke him from a dead sleep or because something is wrong and his body can sense it, his _wolf_ can sense it.

But he’s staring outside this window and nothing is moving, _nothing_ is gaining his attention. Everything is still, nature’s heartbeat is steady and calm but he can’t shake this feeling that there’s something going on beneath the curtain of dusk still cloaking the woods. He got the same reaction when he and Scott had found that arrow in tree on their way back to the cabin. The same sound echoing in his ears; like a twig snapping in half, like someone stepping onto a branch and the distinct _crack_ like breaking a bone.

He leans forward a little, analyzes all of what he can see with his heightened vision, trying to pick up any pulses of irregularity just in case…and nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels Scott’s hand on his forearm.

He whirls around to see him standing there, blinking sleepily at him as he rubs his arms. “What’s wrong?” He croaks out, voice thick with sleep. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Isaac sighs, tries to regulate his own heartbeat as he glances back out the window before shaking his head. “No, I…I thought I heard something.”

Scott approaches the window and tugs the curtain back a little to look out too, trying to pinpoint what Isaac is looking for. “What?”

He licks his lips and runs a hand over his face; it had to be a nightmare or something. He feels bad for waking Scott up and for his inability to just enjoy time away from all the drama and things trying to kill him and his friends. It’s like he can’t spend one day without there being some dark cloud hanging over his head with a ticking clock reminding him that their days might be numbered. It’s a habit, he realizes, just like cleaning and cooking and washing the laundry. He’s _used_ to feeling like his life is hanging in the balance, like they’re always in danger…so now his body must be making up sounds and scenarios to just fill that absence.

He’s got to relax, has to stop conclusion jumping. He wants Scott to enjoy this short vacation where he can just…have fun and be a _regular_ teenager for once and not have to worry about the weight of the world on his shoulders before he has to go back to Beacon Hills and responsibility and reality smack him in the face all at once.

“Nothing, never mind.” Isaac says, shaking his head before biting his lower lip.

Scott turns to look at him; eyes not entirely convinced that he’s alright. “You sure?”

Isaac nods, gives him a soft smile before gently grasping his wrist. “Positive, let’s go back to bed. I’m going to have to return to my own room in a few hours.”

The shorter grunts in disapproval and lets Isaac take him back into bed, pulling Scott into his embrace as they shuffle under the covers. Scott falls back asleep easily, face pressed into Isaac’s neck as one arm lazily rests along his waist. Isaac dips his nose into Scott’s hair and breathes evenly, slow and steady as he tries to will himself to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	7. Unwarranted Questions

Isaac is up earlier than anyone else only because he can’t get back to sleep after he leaves Scott’s bed around eight. He lies in his own room for a half of an hour before he gives up trying to count sheep (which seems ironic to him because of the whole _wolf_ thing) and throws the covers off to grab a shower. He lets the hot water soothe his tense muscles, rubbing his hands over his face until he gets the headache appearing in his temples to disappear. Last night hadn’t been kind to him in terms of sleeping; ever since he had heard that noise outside his body seemed to be on some sort of caution and alert setting. Every little sound throughout the cabin and shift of Scott’s body in his sleep seemed to wake him up; four times between crawling back into bed with Scott and going back to his own room at eight. The clock chime downstairs jerked him awake at five; every so often Scott nuzzled into his side like some sort of kitten, Stiles was saying Lydia’s name in his sleep and his ears kept straining to hear anything going on outside in the woods.

He scrubs his body in the shower, washing off Scott’s scent and replacing it with mint flavored body wash and his own shampoo. He thinks a long shower might help him feel more awake but it just ends up having the opposite effect, body aching to sleep as he walks downstairs and slowly peruses the living room before finding himself in the kitchen. Isaac opens cabinets and the fridge, trying to figure out what he can make for breakfast since he did offer Stiles to do so after he ruined some of the leather in his jeep. His mind wanders to what summers used to be like here when Mrs. Stilinski was alive and Scott’s father was still around; imagines a tiny Scott with wild brown hair that covers his eyes sitting at the table behind him, syrup on his face, eyes wide and adventurous, a bright smile that he still has even with age.

Thinking about Scott like that, young and innocent and hopeful, reminds him of himself when his brother was still alive. When he had a hero right in the flesh that fought in wars against things that went bump in the night. Even before he disappeared into the army, when they were both younger Camden would run around the house in a cape and save Isaac from dragons, ghosts and monsters alike. But then his brother grew up and went away and suddenly there was no one to fight Isaac’s battles for him; he was left alone to war against his own demons and ghouls—and most of the time he lost.

That’s one of the things Isaac thinks he likes most about Scott; no one cared about him before, no one was willing to be on his side to fight the battles he needed to win. No one gave a shit that he was just trying to survive, parents and teachers ignored the bruises on his skin and pretended everything was fine, didn’t think about the demons Isaac had to deal with in the confines of an unplugged freezer but

Scott cared.

He knew it the very moment at the rave when he told him he didn’t want him to get hurt. He can remember his shell-shocked face, the way he stared at his retreating back long after the other had left his side. Scott, someone who barely knew him, someone he had been awful to because he had followed his alpha’s orders and had depended on blind faith. Scott, an omega by his own choice, kind, thoughtful, heroic in his a modest way—he didn’t want _Isaac_ to get hurt. He remembers being surprised because Scott was the first person, in a long time, who cared whether or not he lived or died.

Isaac still might not have a lot of people that he can depend on, but he has Scott. And that, really, makes all the difference.

He works into the morning to gather ingredients for omelets; he puts shaved cheese, cut up pieces of ham, peppers, bacon bits and other odds and ends into small bowls and sets them down on the island for people to pick from when they eventually wake up. He makes a cheese omelet for himself and puts a pot of coffee on, sitting on one of the island stools to enjoy his breakfast. He’s not three bites into his omelet before he feels Scott slide up behind him and kiss his shoulder.

“Morning.” He whispers and Isaac smiles, a soft shiver traveling down his spine as Scott nuzzles his nose into the back of his neck while his arms wind around his waist.

Isaac turns his head, his nose brushing Scott’s cheekbone as the shorter rests his chin on his shoulder. “Hi.” He kisses his cheek and runs his hand along the arms around his waist. “How’d you sleep?”

Scott nods, closing his eyes as he lets out a long breath while Isaac’s nose bumps against his jawline. “Good. What about you?” He looks at him and smiles softly. “You look beat.”

Isaac shrugs his one shoulder which gently shifts Scott’s chest against his back. “Not as well as I wanted to.” Though he doesn’t elaborate on whether it was from his run of the mill nightmares or something else.

For whatever reason Scott doesn’t press. Instead he moves to get himself a cup of coffee, smiling softly as he pours himself a good amount and nods towards the ingredients on the table. “Omelets?”

He stands up and smiles, getting ready at the stove. “Yeah, choose whatever you want and I’ll make it.”

He chuckles and eats a few bacon bits before passing them over to Isaac along with the ham and cheese. “Man, Stiles is going to love you.”

Isaac quickly and efficiently makes the omelet, turning the stove off before placing it on a plate for Scott. He turns and leans against the counter, smiling at him as he hands him the plate. “I’ll tell him I’m already spoken for.”

Scott raises his eyebrows and sets the plate aside, inching forward to pull at the waistband of Isaac’s sweatpants. He tugs him into his chest and grins. “Oh is that so?”

Isaac hums and leans down so Scott doesn’t have to reach up as far to kiss him, wrapping his arms securely around his back. He squeezes around Scott’s midsection as he cups Isaac’s face, tilting his head to kiss him deeper—

“Oh _God_ ,” Stiles groans, shielding his eyes as he walks into the kitchen. Isaac and Scott pull their lips apart but their bodies remain connected. “Do I need to throw a bucket of cold water on the two of you; it’s like, nine in the freaking morning.”

Scott chuckles, his hands now resting on Isaac’s hips. “Morning to you too sunshine.”

Stiles grumbles as he sits at the island table. “Honestly, I think I need to point out the word ‘discreet’ to the both of you because you guys suck at this whole ‘secret relationship’ business. I could have been anyone walking in here seeing your tongues down one another’s throats.”

“Oh, we knew it was you.” Scott points to his ears. “That’s why we didn’t stop.”

Isaac smirks as Stiles makes a disgusted face. “Lucky me.”

He pulls away from Scott’s embrace to make Stiles an omelet, sipping from his coffee cup as Allison and Lydia eventually wander downstairs looking worse for wear. Isaac’s never had a hangover before but they don’t look pleasant at all. Scott chuckles and places a warm hand on the back of Allison’s shoulders, gently massaging her muscles as Isaac sets down a cup of coffee in front of her.

Scott stands and goes to the fridge to grab the honey, pours some in the coffee and nudges the mug towards her. “Drink, I’ll look for Advil.”

Lydia has resigned to resting her head on the island counter next to Stiles and refuses to move a muscle even when Isaac asks if she wants something to eat.

“Just let her die in peace.” Stiles whispers to him, smirking when Lydia finds the energy to tell him to ‘fuck off’.

Isaac makes simple omelets for Allison and Lydia, just a little bit of cheese in hopes that it won’t upset their stomachs any worse than they probably already are. He cleans up the kitchen and smiles at Scott when he thanks him for breakfast, brushing his hand against Isaac’s wrist as he places his plate in the soapy water while the taller does the dishes. He disappears a moment later, announcing he’s going to take a shower and Isaac dries his hands on a dishtowel as he watches Allison and Lydia push around their omelets on their plates before sipping his coffee.

“We should have a bonfire tonight,” Allison says, glancing at Stiles who is pouring himself more coffee. “Maybe after spending some time at the lake? The weather is supposed to be clear and sunny all day and carry into tonight, we could see the stars.”

Stiles nods. “We’ll need firewood but a day at the lake sounds like a good idea…once Lydia stops looking like she’s going to throw up into her eggs every ten seconds.”

Lydia makes a face and places a hand over her stomach, excusing herself to quickly rush from the room to do exactly that. Stiles sighs and runs a hand over his face. “I better make sure she makes it to the bathroom.” He mutters before leaving the room to go after her.

Isaac glances at Allison as they’re left alone in the kitchen; he can hear the sound of the water running as Scott turns the shower on and Stiles is gently comforting Lydia as she vomits. He clears his throat, trying to pinpoint other sounds to distract himself; he can hear the gentle wind blowing through the pines outside, the hum of the refrigerator and the upbeat of Allison’s heart…is she uncomfortable around him?

He looks over at her and is about to ask her if she’s alright but she stands and puts her plate in the sink. “I’m going to go out and look for some firewood for tonight’s bonfire before I forget and it gets too dark to find some.”

Isaac glances at the backdoor and then to Allison, who is fixing the knot in the laces of her sneakers before he moves to follow her. “You shouldn’t go out by yourself.” Allison turns to look at him and crosses her arms over her chest like she’s not impressed. “I’m just saying, Scott and I ran through those woods last night and it’s easy to get turned around.”

Allison taps her fingers on her arm and makes a soft noise before pulling her hair back into a loose ponytail. “Don’t worry; I can take care of myself.”

She’s out the door and down the steps before he can even reply. He groans with a roll of his eyes and runs upstairs to grab his shoes before he follows her out the backdoor. He might be overcompensating, there might be no real threat out in the woods…but if he lets her go and something _is_ in fact going on and something happens to her…Isaac wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.  She hasn’t gotten very far with his heightened speed and he tries to gently grab her arm to stop her as she disappears past the trees and bushes.

Her reflexes are quick and she yanks him by his sleeve before he can touch her and slams him, not so gracefully he might add, against a tree.

“What part of ‘I can take care of myself’ do you not get?”

Isaac glares at her and takes her hand off his chest by grabbing onto her wrist. He tries very hard to control his strength so he doesn’t hurt her as he spins her around and pins her to the same tree. His front is pressed against her back and he has her arm twisted so she can’t move.

“I’m more than aware of that, trust me.” He whispers in her ear, remembering all too well the deep cuts from the Chinese Ring Daggers. “But you’re also hungover so you’re not as quick as you like to think you are.”

Allison groans and tries to shimmy back into him to pull herself free but he proves his point where she can’t budge out of his grasp. She whimpers and finally sighs, resigns herself to stop struggling as she rests her forehead against the bark of the tree.

“Fine. Let me go.”

Isaac hesitates a moment longer, and alright he sort of revels in the fact that he has her pressed against a tree and she can’t seem to reign in her bearings to throw him off, before he backs up and lets her arm go. She winces and rubs the back of her forearm before shooting him a glare.

“That was unnecessary.”  She sniffs and steps over a log, not looking back at him as they start to walk into the woods.

“At least I didn’t stab you with anything.” Isaac shrugs his shoulder and he nearly misses the barely there smile that tugs at her lips.

0o0o0o0o

The process in collecting firewood takes a bit longer than he expects. They’ve walked a good distance away from the cabin and it’s going to be a pain in the ass to carry wood back but the scenery is nice and he and Allison fall into easy conversation a few times so it’s not too excruciating. But it _is_ getting a bit hot out, the sun is leaking through patches of leaves on the high trees and the rays burn through the fabric of his shirt to heat his skin. He’s sweating easily, it beads along his hairline and the back of his neck and he mostly just wants to get back to the group so he can dive into the lake and check out Scott in his swim trunks.

But he doesn’t rush the process of collecting the firewood because Allison seems to be enjoying taking her time with the walk (the headache that she has from her hangover probably at the root of that) and that’s fine with him anyways because he’s been wanting to survey the woods ever since that noise kept him up last night. Isaac dives into the sights, sounds and sensations of the forest around them, trying to take in every tree branch rustling, every coo of a bird flying overhead, every crack of a branch or shadow dancing across the soil from the sun because he’s not sure what’s going to be important. If all or none of it is.

And it’d probably be going really well if Allison would stop interrupting to ask him a question or make a comment about her hangover.

“Are you trying to track something?” She looks over at him as he leans down to pick up a few sticks.

He discreetly rolls his eyes; how can he even concentrate long enough to track anything when she’s disrupting every five seconds. “No.” He answers, because it’s not like he even _knows_ what he’s trying to look for anyways.

Isaac guesses it’s nothing…it _has_ to be nothing; he’s just being paranoid. Living in Beacon Hills has made him paranoid.

“You have that face that my father has when he’s hunting, trying to track something in the woods.”

Isaac makes another face but it’s more slightly confused, more annoyed. “There’s a face dedicated to hunting?”

Allison hums. “Like concentration, are you focusing on something specific?” She stops and turns to look at him, reaching out to tap the bridge of his nose with her finger. It feels like she’s scolding a puppy; condescending even though he knows it’s not. “You keep scrunching your nose.” 

He steps over a tree branch and then doubles back to pick it up, remembering the whole point of them being in these damn woods. “I’m not focusing on anything.” He insists, wanting to get off this damn subject.

The last thing he needs is for it to get back to the group that he’s ‘hearing things’ and for Stiles to get all wound up on a tangent about sacrifices and alphas. At that point he might destroy the other half of the jeep’s upholstery on principle.

“Can we just do what we came out here to do?” He snips as she opens her mouth to say something else.

Allison glares at him and says he didn’t have to follow her out. Isaac wishes he sort of hadn’t and would have just let her wander out here by herself to get attacked by that so called ‘phantom noise’. Or mosquitoes. He’s not sure which one first.

It’s actually quiet for a while as Allison moves to his far right to get some branches (thank God) and he’s left alone with his thoughts; first of which are trying to connect the hunter arrow he and Scott found the other night and the noise he heard outside which sounded like someone was watching the cabin. They have to live within the area, though when Scott and he were running around the woods last night he hadn’t remembered smelling any other places nearby. Households usually have distinct smells, even from the outside. His grandmother’s house used to smell like musty perfume and cookies, he remembers the way his father’s house smelled like the walls were dipped in brandy, cigarette smoke and sponged with fear and guilt.

The McCall house smells like…like Mrs. McCall’s laundry detergent, warmth, homemade lasagna and Scott’s cologne. He doesn’t recall any household smells when he was out here the other night…but then again he was rather distracted with running and well… _Scott_ , so maybe he missed something. Maybe there are more cabins out in these woods, family owned establishments that date back and hold scents and memories just like Stiles’ place. Maybe he had just missed something because he hadn’t been _focusing_ on it before. He knows, if anything, that he has to find tangible information before he causes any sort of disturbance in this long weekend.

Isaac glances over his shoulder to make sure Allison is still within eyesight before stepping over another fallen tree trunk, bending at his waist to pick up a few random sticks that look campfire worthy. He scrunches his eyebrows before he feels her come up beside him, easily dumping more wood into his arms. The branches scratch at his forearms, the prickling sensation making his wolf stir behind his chest but he easily keeps the beast at bay as he turns to look at the girl beside him.

She looks like she wants to say something and Isaac holds his breath because _this_ can’t be good. Can’t he just catch a break?

Allison’s eyes are wide and caramel colored as she looks up at him, the sunlight is breaking through the leaves to reflect against her hair, turning it into a light orange and auburn color. “Do you like Scott?” She asks smoothly, though the question nearly knocks him onto his ass.

She must be able to tell that she’s thrown him off his game because she adds _more_ and, God _no_ , he really wishes she wouldn’t. “I’m just asking because that kiss last night…” She trails off, like she’s recalling it play by play…which Isaac understands, he’s sort of doing the same thing and wow, his pants are suddenly tighter and he really _shouldn’tbedoing_ this right now.

Alright, so fine, that kiss was rather…surprising for the group but out of all the kisses that he and Scott shared _that_ one had been sort of temped compared to the ones Isaac can remember. And he can remember, in detail, about a lot of them—stuck between sheets and lips nipping at lips, tongues darting out and tracing skin and teeth clicking with desperation and _need_.

He fixes her with a look that says, ‘what about it?’ before she presses onward. “It was pretty intense but kind of comfortable too,” He has the urge to ask her why the hell she had been analyzing his kiss with Scott like she suddenly did it for a living. “Like you’ve done it before.”

Isaac lets out a low breath, wondering how he should go about this. She’s talking to him too calmly, her heartbeat is still and constant, like she already knows the answer and he's worried that she might _actually_ be aware of something.

The simplicity of whether he likes Scott is almost ironic because it's such a loaded question. He’s stuck on the fact, again, that he’s really glad that Allison’s not a werewolf because his heart is doing the conga line in his chest.

“Oh,” is all he says at first. “No,” he laughs because that seems simple enough. He doesn't want to overreact. “It’s not like that at all. Scott and I are just friends. And like I said, Scott isn’t even that great of a kisser anyways.”

His hearts skids in an upbeat of a lie; he enjoys kissing Scott. A lot. It’s embarrassingly something he looks forward to. But it seems like a good comment to add because it puts her onto the track that kissing her ex wasn’t as enjoyable as it seemed…and that he’s not inclined to do it again anytime soon.

“You’re close.” She suddenly comments, like she’s been thinking about it for a while and there’s a hint of jealousy there that smells like burning wildflowers.

“Very,” he agrees. “But that's just a pack thing.”

He's not sure why he's trying to assure her but he's _really_ aware that he should stop because for one, it's giving her false hope that's not there and secondly, it's just going to make him look like even more of an asshole when he and Scott finally do tell people what’s been going on between them.

Isaac stops a moment and turns to look at her, trying to put this thing to rest because the last thing he needs is for her to overanalyze everything him and Scott do.

“Look, after everything with my father…” He hates using this as some sort of excuse regardless of the fact that it’s partly true. He also feels uncomfortable revealing things about his past with his family even though it’s obvious that everyone knows his sob story by now. “I have a hard time trusting people.” He says, sticking his one hand in his pocket as his other arm holds the sticks and branches. “I have a hard time accepting that people might actually care about me.”

Allison stands there quietly, absorbing what he says like some sort of sponge. She doesn’t open her mouth to speak because she can’t understand what he’s telling her, she can’t _know_ what it’s like to go through what he’s experienced so she just listens—which he’s more than thankful for.

“I trust Scott because he cares about what happens to me.” Isaac knows that it’s not so much about him personally but that it has a lot to do with the type of person Scott is but it’s still better than anything he’s used to.

He doesn’t get into the fact that he feels connected to him, something that runs a lot deeper than pack, that it’s hard to explain and that it’s mainly something that he _feels,_ that it very well might be the same thing Allison feels when she looks at Scott. That he’s safe…that he’s…warm and accepted and cared about, that he gets lost in the crinkle around his eyes when Scott smiles, the deep caramel color of his skin like he’s been out in the sun all day and the soft and gentle way that he touches him. For a long time, the only touch Isaac was used to was the kind that brought him pain; it took him a long time to accept and relax into Scott’s fingers on his skin, to not flinch away or wince like he was preparing for the worst. 

Whether or not that answer’s good enough for Allison, Isaac doesn’t exactly care; he meant what he said to her in that janitor’s closet that her happiness isn’t his top priority. He concentrates just hard enough to pick up the slightest hint of satisfaction roll off her shoulders but it’s muddled with something else, more questions, more doubts, more concerns that are unanswered and that he might have to deal with at some point.

But for now, he settles into the silence, his wolf relaxes at how safe it feels surrounded by woods and takes her deeper into the shade of trees to find more firewood for tonight’s activities.

0o0o0o0o

It’s around the half hour mark when Isaac starts to feel off.

The sensation is slow at first, like waves rolling into shore, but when he steps into a sunspot beating down through the trees he really starts to notice how much he’s been sweating. He can feel it bead at the top of his hairline, drench his lower back and pool around the back of his neck. There’s this ringing in his ears all of a sudden as he looks up into the sky, the sun blurring his vision and making him stumble.

“Isaac?” Allison asks as he blindly reaches out for a tree to steady himself and nearly trips over an exposed root of a tree.

The irony that werewolves are supposed to have improved balance because their reflex skills are sharpened is not lost on him. He’s always felt top heavy as it is because of his height, long gangly legs playing catch up with the rest of his body’s movement. He feels her grasp his upper arm to grab his attention or steady him, he’s not sure. Concern is leaking from her pores and it gives him even more of a headache, which is now throbbing in his temples as he lets out a slow breath.

“What’s wrong?”

He shakes her hand off his arm and swallows. “Nothing, I’m fine.” His wolf whines low in his chest and he agrees that, no, the last thing he feels is fine but it’s not like he can even understand what’s wrong to explain it to her. He just doesn’t feel right.

Isaac is about to propose that they just grab the firewood they’ve managed to collect and start their way back to the cabin when his head snaps up in the direction of third heartbeat.

“What the hell are you doing?” A girl no older than them glares in their direction—but rather than focus on answering her question, Isaac’s wolf bears its claws, scratching against his sternum as it feels threatened; he zeros in on the rifle that’s pointed right at Allison.

A growl rumbles low in his throat and Allison squeezes his arm again like she thinks that might steady him. He can always feel the transformation right before it happens when he concentrates on it; he just wants to threaten the stranger and his wolf revels in the idea of participating in a fight, in shedding blood. His claws start to grow and snag against the fabric of his jeans, his canines elongate and pinch his gums, prod the sensitive skin of the inside of his lower lip…and right before his eyes get a chance to glow illuminating yellow a guy steps beside the girl in question and yanks the rifle out of her hands.

He doesn’t smell like a threat and Isaac relaxes into Allison’s touch, his body uncoiling as his wolf backs down begrudgingly. He swallows, glancing at the two of them side by side, not sure what to make of them.

“What do you think _you’re_ doing?” The boy snaps, uncocking the rifle and sliding the lock into place. “What did I tell you about touching dad’s gun?”

Isaac knew they were related before the statement, while the girl is obviously a little younger than the boy he can pick out certain characteristics that tie them together. Both have sandy brown hair with wild curls licking against the napes of their neck, from what he can see both have dark green eyes that remind him of the bottom of the ocean floor and their scents are all over eachother. That can only come from two things: a relationship with the other or being related through blood. That’s why when Isaac hones in on Mrs. McCall’s scent, past her flowery perfume, the decay of hours spent in a hospital and laundry detergent that he can pick up hints of Scott. The alike characteristics between the girl and guy help him determine siblings.

“You’ll have to excuse her, she’s been stuck in a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ mentality ever since someone snuck onto our property about a week ago and poisoned our dog.”

He doesn’t remember passing a property sign of any kind…but maybe that was because he had been a bit busy deflecting questions about his and Scott’s relationship. The guy looks over at them and smiles softly at Allison and Isaac doesn’t even need to be in scenting distance to know he finds her attractive. He bites back the urge to roll his eyes and shifts his body so that he’s leaning against a tree.

“It’s alright,” Isaac clears his throat. “I’m more than used to that type of mentality.” He says pointedly, gaining a distinct glare from the female beside him.

The guy smiles, his cheeks dimpling in a way that reminds him of Scott. “I’m Charlie Campbell and trigger happy here is my sister, Ally.”

“Allison and Isaac.” She turns to look at him and he crosses his arms over his chest. “We didn’t mean to trespass, or anything, we were just collecting wood for a bonfire tonight.”

“You up here with family?” Charlie asks, running a hand through his hair.

“Friends.” Isaac replies before closing his eyes a moment against a dizzy spell as the sun settles heavily on his shoulders when the leaves rustle aside from a strong gust of wind. 

Allison nods before squeezing his arm again because it’s clear that something is wrong but while he appreciates the gesture he really wishes she would just _stop_. “Just for a few days, my friend has a cabin near the lake so it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

A crinkle appears between Ally’s eyebrows. “The Stilinski cabin?”

“You know it?” Isaac asks, feeling himself start to sweat again. His stomach drops and swirls in his midsection, like he’s been out to sea for months; if she knows where the cabin is maybe it was her that he heard outside the window last night.

But she shakes her head. “No, I mean, I know of it. My mom used to take us up here all the time when we were little and she’d tell us about the surrounding cabins. Not many people take their families up here as often as they used to.”

“Do you live here?” Allison wraps her arms around herself and Charlie shakes his head.

“No, our uh,” He looks down at his sister, who averts her eyes to the dirt. “Our parents passed away about a month ago so we’re just up at the cabin cleaning out their things.”

Isaac frowns as the grief from the three of them hit him hard; nearly knocks him over. He crinkles his nose and rubs his forehead; the scent of it making his head hurt more than it already does.

“I’m so sorry,” Allison sympathizes. “I know what it’s like to lose a parent.”

He thinks he’d probably feel sorry for them too if he wasn’t dealing with everyone else’s heartache, it’s like someone shoved him right back to the start when he just became a werewolf and didn’t know how to deal with his heightened senses. All of their emotions are assaulting him, giving him a monstrous headache, his temples are starting to pound and it’s drowning out his hearing.

Ally clears her throat and shrugs her one shoulder. “Anyways, we should probably get going. We have a lot of things to pack, it was nice meeting you,” She makes a noise when Charlie bumps his shoulder into hers, edging her forward a bit. “And for…aiming a rifle at you.”

“You should come to our campfire tonight,” Allison offers, glancing over at Isaac before smiling. “We’re going to roast marshmallows and probably go night swimming in the lake.”

Charlie licks his lips. “Oh, we wouldn’t want to impose…” But he looks like he’s already saying yes and Isaac completely understands, Scott has fallen prey to Allison’s large brown doe eyes too. “Hey, you okay?”

He doesn’t realize he’s breathing heavier than before when he finally stops listening to everything around him; three heartbeats disappear from his eardrums, the sounds of the forest stop, even his headache quiets it’s pounding in his ears—and he can hear himself breathe. His lungs sound heavy, like they’re filled with water.

Isaac shakes his head; they need to get back to the cabin. “M’fine.” He assures them, taking a step back and standing as tall as he can as he leans up off the tree. “We should be heading back as well, the rest of our group is probably wondering where we disappeared to.”

It takes him a moment to realize that Ally is watching him, almost like she’s trying to figure out what makes him tick, digging under his skin and reading him like letters and words are etched into his bones and blood. It feels like a distinctive hand is squeezing along his spine with an ice like grip.

“Right of course,” Charlie nods, smiling again at Allison. “Well, we’ll see you tonight. Thanks for the invitation.”

The both of them gather up the wood they’ve managed to collect between them and say their goodbyes to the siblings before heading towards Stiles’ cabin. Isaac thinks he starts to feel better the closer they get but that hope is drowned out in the pulsating of his headache against his temples. He feels sweat drip into his eyes from his forehead; the tips of his fingers numb and it travels to his hands making him drop the wood at his feet.

He thinks he hears Allison scream for Scott but the sound disintegrates like he’s being submerged into water, it feels familiar and he recalls a metal tub filled with ice as his vision blurs. He’s certain he hears Scott’s voice, sees shapes moving that might be him running down the back deck’s stairs as Allison clambers to hold him upright—

but not even Scott can pull him back this time as he falls into unconsciousness, his legs buckling beneath him.

The dark feels like home and it reminds him of the hum from a freezer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, any comments are welcome :)


	8. trust your senses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who’s given this story a chance! I really appreciate the kudos and comments and the general interest :) here’s chapter 8, enjoy!

The first thing he hears is a sharp ringing. It’s sort of confusing, or rather overwhelming because as his eyes slowly open he’s assaulted with bright streams of sunlight. It’s like his body is trying to take in too many senses at once and he winces, squeezing his eyes shut as his hand moves to cover his face. Pieces of what happened slowly stitch together like a frayed movie reel in the forefront of his mind. He remembers meeting the siblings with Allison, he remembers the woods and heat suffocating him, he remembers the firewood hitting his feet and someone’s hands on his shoulders, Scott’s voice vibrating against his eardrums—but the rest of it is black, lost in transition, hazy.

“Hey,” He hears somewhere to his right, it’s muffled. He feels something cool and damp press against his forehead in small circles. “How you feeling?”

Isaac lets out a slow breath, he still feels hot, his body is radiating heat like some sort of oversized furnace. His head still hurts and he manages to grunt out a noise that explains his pain in the best way that he can—but he does feel better; the ground beneath him isn’t spinning and he doesn’t feel like he wants to throw up anymore. He seems to have full feeling back in his hands and when he opens his eyes to look up at Scott, who is hovering worriedly over him, he concentrates on that long, steady heartbeat of his and the ringing in his ears is gone.

“What happened?” His voice sounds foreign; it’s scratchy and stuck in his throat.

Scott swallows and shifts in his seat by his chest, which is when Isaac realizes he’s spread out on one of the guest beds, tucked into the sheets with precision and care. “I don’t know, you passed out.” He frowns, playing with the washcloth that was on his forehead between his fingers. “I heard Allison scream and I ran outside, down the steps but your legs were already buckling under you…”

Isaac wants to sit up but his arms feel like jello when he tries and the movement alone sends off a few explosives in his temples. “Have you been here the whole time?”

The blush that covers Scott’s cheeks is far too pretty to be real and Isaac decides he must be hallucinating now too. “You were out a few hours, I was worried. Everyone was in and out to check on you but…I stayed.”

He’s not surprised and Isaac gives Scott a small smile when he lifts the washcloth up to dip into a bowl on the nightstand before wringing it out, starting to dab his neck and forehead with it.

“I called my mom; she said it was probably heat exhaustion.”

Isaac’s eyebrows crinkle together. “Can werewolves even get heat exhaustion?” His heart warms to the fact that Scott called his mom because he was worried but he hates to think that he’s now got Mama McCall worried about him too.

“You had some of the symptoms.” Scott points out. “And we _are_ still part human.”

“You know, watching someone sleep is sort of creepy.” Isaac smirks, winking at him to make Scott smile.

 Those crinkles he loves show up at the corners of his eyes as he dips his head and laughs softly. “I had completely innocent intentions, promise.”

He hums and turns his head into Scott’s touch as the other wolf gently strokes the side of his face with the damp washcloth. He closes his eyes a moment and listens; he falls into the steady rhythm of Scott’s breathing and picks up three distinctive heartbeats that are muffled by walls, outside, farther away. They’re alone in the cabin and it causes an ache to just be closer to him to stir in his chest cavity, filling him up.

Isaac shifts again and moves to sit up, wincing all the while before finally resting his back against the headboard of the bed. He leans his head back and lets out a soft groan, gritting his teeth together at the severe pounding of his headache that worsens with movement. He glances down as Scott rests his hand on his wrist, grasping him softly before a black hue bleeds into his veins. He shakes his head as the pain starts to lessen and tries to remove the other’s hand.

“No, don’t.” He rests his hand on top of Scott’s, gently tugging and breaking the hold. The pain comes back but only slightly. “I’m okay,” He assures him, squeezing his fingers. “It’s just a headache.”

Scott frowns but doesn’t make an attempt to take more of his pain away again. “You hit your head pretty hard when you fell, you were bleeding.” His eyebrows scrunch together and for a moment Isaac worries he tried to take too much from him because he looks _hurt_. “I hate seeing you like that.” He whispers.

He leans forward and cups Scott’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifts until those brown eyes are boring into his. He runs his thumb along his lower lip and smiles softly.

 “I’m okay.” He promises, kissing his upper lip, taking his time and bumping their noses together. “I’ll heal; a little heat exhaustion isn’t going to kill me.”

Scott draws his lower lip into his mouth and bites, contemplating Isaac’s words before setting the washcloth aside on the night table.

“Especially since I’ll be spending the next few hours in a lake.” Isaac grins at him and starts to get up but suddenly Scott is _there_ and a hell of a lot closer than before, moving to straddle his waist and pin him back down into the bed.

“Oh, I’m afraid you have to stay in bed,” Scott leans down and pushes his nose into Isaac’s throat, breathing deeply as his hips swivel down. Isaac shivers and meets his hips with an upward movement, licking his lips. “Doctor’s orders. I think you’re still rather feverish.”

“’I think’ is such a technical diagnosis Doc,” Isaac teases as Scott checks his temperature with his lips, planting a long kiss to his forehead. “In that case, I think less clothing is in order.”

When they finally make it downstairs and outside Isaac still doesn’t feel quite like himself but he’s not sweating to death anymore at least. When Stiles asks them what took them so long to join the group, Scott replies that they got caught up watching some old reruns of some doctor show on TV. Stiles looks between the both of them and makes a gagging noise and Scott grins wolfishly.

0o0o0o0o

Isaac helps Stiles out with the campfire because at it turns out; Stiles should never be allowed near anything flammable. Once he nearly lights the deck on fire and almost, _almost_ catches the corner of Isaac’s sweater with a lit match, the wolf snaps the match and box out of the other’s hands so fast that it nearly blows the flame out. He glares at him into submission, until Stiles hands are in front of his face in surrender and he’s letting Isaac light the damn firewood with a resigned grumble of disapproval.

He pokes and prods at the flames with a fireplace iron poker and watches as some of the wood disintegrates into the fire and dances into the dark night sky. It’s going on ten o’clock and the siblings Allison and he met should be showing up any time now. They briefly told the group about them when he and Scott made it outside that afternoon but Isaac had skipped over key parts that seemed important but was probably best that he left them out. Like the way Charlie was undressing Allison with his eyes or the weird look Ally had given him when Charlie noticed he wasn’t feeling well.

 Just when he thinks he’s almost in the clear to go inside and help Lydia, Scott and Allison set up the items in the kitchen that they’re going to slide onto sticks and (inevitably burn) eat, Stiles grabs him by the sleeve before he can even make it towards the door. Stiles, ironically, is very hard to get rid of once you’ve befriended him. He’s decided that if Beacon Hills had a book club that doubled as a gossip society Stiles would be crowned president with a flower hat and cup of fucking tea.

“So how you feeling curly wolf?”

Isaac glares and swats him off his arm. “Don’t call me that.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Touchy. It’s not my fault you don’t own anything but grandma sweaters and jeans. Invest in some shorts, Lahey.” A beat skips between them, like Stiles is testing the water before opening his mouth again. “But really, you feeling any better?”

He shrugs his shoulder and crosses his arms over his chest, glancing at the kitchen to make sure Scott isn’t listening in before he replies. “Sort of.”

Honestly, he thought he’d be feeling a hundred percent by now. But his body still aches and feels sort of sluggish and this headache just won’t disappear completely, it’s still settled like a heavy weight of lead in his temples, a cinder block rolling around in his skull cavity every time he moves.

“I thought werewolves couldn’t get sick.”

He rubs the back of his neck and shrugs his shoulders again because why the fuck does Stiles always have to talk to him like he’s some sort of Werewolf Atlas. “Scott said that it’s because we’re still part human, I don’t know.”

A crinkle appears between Stiles’ eyebrows and no, no, this isn’t good. “That shouldn’t mean that you can get sick. Scott had asthma and Erica had seizures but…those things didn’t act up until the Kanima or…” He trails off and looks up at him.

“What?”

“Wolfsbane.”

Isaac frowns, trying to back step through his day with Allison in the woods. The whole interaction is sort of fuzzy, especially when he remembers when he started to feel sick. All he can think about is that suffocating heat wrapping him up, like it had been inching into his chest cavity and burning holes into his lungs. The dizziness and numbness and nausea, the increased sweating and fainting…could that have been from something his _wolf_ had been reacting too and not necessarily his human side?

“I don’t remember seeing any purple flowers when I was picking up wood with Allison, I know what Wolfsbane looks like…I would have avoided it.”

“Not if you didn’t know what it looked like,” Stiles points out and he can tell Isaac is about to _hit_ him because he _just_ said— “No, I mean, there are different types. You could have walked right past it and not realized it. And that would explain why you still feel like crap. If it _was_ heat exhaustion, you would have just healed.”

Isaac turns over the idea in his mind, he guesses that would explain how he got so sick and so _fast_ , the fact that he was still weak and sort of lightheaded with a pounding headache even hours later. Stiles is right, if it was a human affliction, he would have healed already or at least felt significantly better. But Wolfsbane? Out here? He guesses he doesn’t really know much about the plant…there could probably be a ton of different kinds and that’s not even counting cross pollination and hybrids. It’s…possible.

“I didn’t hallucinate.”

Stiles shrugs. “Maybe this type of Wolfsbane doesn’t cause hallucinations. Different kind, different symptoms.” He says simply, like he’s some sort of supernatural botany expert.

Isaac sticks his hands in his pockets and glances towards the kitchen again, sees Allison lean into Scott’s side as she laughs at something Lydia says.

“You have to tell Scott.”

His head snaps back to look at Stiles. “What? No. Why, to worry him for no reason?” He asks, picking up the poker to shift some wood in the fire. “There’s no point. I’m not dying and we’re only here for another day and a half. If we come across a plant and start to feel off we'll know what it is.”

Stiles isn’t convinced. “But don’t you think he should know—”

Isaac bites back a snarl. “Let it go, Stilinski.”

The shorter huffs and he’s not finished but Isaac has just about reached his point of patience. “I just think—”

Isaac doesn’t really care what Stiles thinks and his eyes flash gold as a low growl escapes his throat, his wolf telling him to _backoff_. Stiles swallows and holds his hands up, taking two steps back before glaring at him. He sighs, settling down, his wolf enjoying the amount of fear seeping from Stiles and how it makes him distinctly smell like _prey_.  He should feel guilty but Stiles should know that he can’t just keep pressing people’s buttons and not get an adverse reaction at some point.

“Fine,” Stiles snaps when he’s a good distance away (more like he’s in a good position to run inside and find Scott…just in case). “You’re so great at keeping secrets anyways.”

It’s a low blow aimed at his and Scott’s relationship, one Isaac feels like a punch to his stomach, air forced out of his lungs. Stiles seems like he might regret the comment, can see it swirling in his eyes, but it disappears with a justifiable look taking its place a moment later. Of course, that moment is when the other three decide to step outside, hands carrying beers and trays filled with gram crackers, chocolate, marshmallows and other odds and ends. Scott takes a moment to glance between Stiles and Isaac, he can feel the tension, he knows it’s seeping off both of them.

“Everything okay?”

He nods as Stiles shifts on his feet. “I can light a damn fire, you know.” He aims at Scott, choosing to focus all of his irritation into that brief statement as he brushes past Isaac.

Isaac sighs and rubs the palms of his hands on his jeans, glancing at Scott before going over to help Allison with her tray of goodies. Why is it that he can’t seem to just come out ahead? Just once.

0o0o00o0o

It’s late when Charlie and Ally show up to their campfire at the back of Stiles’ cabin but they are both welcome with open arms like the group is greeting old friends. He expects that out of Scott; the other wolf has an uncanny ability to make you feel like you _belong_. He’s warm and inviting in such a way that he could probably make an electric blanket feel envious. Allison is bright and smiling like her life depends on it when she sees Charlie and all Isaac can do is shake his head and cross his arms over his chest because _honestly_ ; does she want the new boy in plaid or Scott because he can’t figure her out. Lydia silently judges the two newcomers as Stiles animatedly chats with Ally as she sits down on one of the benches near the fire and for some reason he can’t stop seeing Erica with that bright red lipstick and mischievous grin as the redhead ticks her eyes up and down Charlie’s body like she’s mapping out some distant land she wants to explore.

Isaac stays quiet and to himself as the two settle in, grabbing beers and sticks to stab marshmallows with. It’s not that he wants to remain anti-social, though in group settings it’s sort of what he’s used to, but he’s also trying to read the siblings and get a feel for them. He knows this is a bad habit, that he shouldn’t instinctively mistrust and suspect everyone he meets (something he probably picked up from Derek) but he can’t help it. An arrow in the woods, a noise outside while everyone is sleeping, these two showing up and the probability of Wolfsbane—he’s never been great at math but how many times can he ignore the coincidence of two plus two equaling four.

The brother isn’t too bad; he doesn’t seem like a threat to either Isaac or his wolf. He smells like woods, dry leaves, laundry detergent and coffee. His hands seem rough like he works in nature a lot and the toned muscles of his body seem to go along with that theory. His clothes fit him to his form but in a flattering way and maybe if he wasn’t so suspicious of the two of them he could actually admit that Charlie was attractive. Not that he’s looking, or anything. While Ally’s curls are unruly and wild down her back, Charlie makes sure to cut his hair close to his scalp so that the only curls are licking the nape of his neck. His smile is wide and his eyes are kind. His heartbeat is steady (unless Allison is around) and he can count the beats to assure himself that nothing is out of place.

But Ally…Ally seems different. And he can’t put his finger on _why_. She’s human, so it’s not like he’s scenting some sort of supernatural explanation. Her eyes are the color of her brother’s, bottom of the ocean floor. She’s just as tall as Allison but holds herself differently; while Allison stands like she _feels_ tall Ally curls in on herself. She’s broken, she’s damaged, she’s sad. Maybe he’s just indentifying with that, a part of himself reaching out to her and maybe that’s what he’s not realizing. He’s not sure. He wants to talk to her, see if he can maybe sort it out somehow but Stiles is drilling a hole into her eardrum about summers spent at the lake and how they’ve never seemed to run into one another. He glances up to see Scott coming in his direction and notices that Ally’s eyes are on him, again, just like in the woods when he was with Allison earlier in the day.

It’s weird, it’s like she’s trying to pry at his skin and peel it back like they’re pages to turn to read him. He shivers as Scott sits next to him and the boy discreetly slides his hand up and under Isaac’s shirt to feel the skin of his back. Ally’s eyes are off of him, turning to Stiles to tune in and Lydia and Allison are talking to Charlie as they sip on their beers farther away from the fire.

“You going to roast a marshmallow?” Scott asks, removing his hand from the back of his shirt so he can grab two sticks. He hands one to Isaac without a reply and grins at him as he pushes marshmallows onto their awaiting sticks.

While the sticks hover over the fire, Scott munches on a marshmallow, the stickiness remaining on his lips. Isaac wants to lick it off, wants to taste Scott’s mouth and skin and sugary residue left behind. He licks his own lips like it’s some sort of distraction and looks into the fire.

“I’ve never had smores before.” He admits and Scott’s eyes widen like he’s just committed some form of campfire treachery.

“Dude, they’re so good.” Scott licks his lips and turns his stick in the fire to golden brown the other side of his marshmallow.

Isaac hums and glances over at Charlie and Ally a moment before nudging Scott’s shoulder gently with his own. He doesn’t even have to look at him to know he has his attention; the shorter just slightly leans back into the touch.

“Can I ask you a wolf related question?” He asks and Scott’s shoulders tense a moment before he nods.

There’s some hesitation there and Isaac knows Scott is conflicted about this, when he asks him things he needs guidance on. Things he probably should be asking Derek, his alpha. “Sure.”

 He lowers his voice and he barely moves his mouths when he speaks, talking just above a whisper, just in case anyone is close enough that they can hear. Their heightened senses pick up on the sound waves without much effort.

“How do you know when to…trust your senses?” It seems like such a stupid question but honestly, he’s having a fucking hard time.

There are so many things that pull at his body for attention, like he’s seeing the world for the first time every time he tries to concentrate. Every scent seems important, every heightened noise sends his wolf on edge and every touch vibrates throughout his skin with a prickling sensation that hurts and is enjoyable at the same time. He’s still so new at this sometimes, he doesn’t know what to hone in on and what to let go. And when he’s trying to track someone or something or, for instance, get a good read on the siblings he can’t focus on what he needs to do.

Scott licks his lips again, he’s thinking, trying to put what he wants to say into words that help explain. “Well, I guess it just comes down to instinct. You have to tap into your wolf; it’s a much better tracker than you are. You have to let it take control but not enough to shift.”

There’s a balance there that Isaac understands but knows it’s going to take a lot of trying and concentration to probably master.

“You have to trust it to tell you what’s important.” Isaac nods and smiles softly at Scott, pulling his stick from the fire to poke at his marshmallow. A moment passes before he asks what Isaac inevitably knew was coming. “Why?”

He swallows and meets Scott’s eyes before guiding him with his line of vision to Ally and Charlie. “Are you getting weird vibes from either of them?”

Scott frowns. “Not really…are you?”

Isaac eats his marshmallow to buy himself some time and Scott pulls his own stick back from the fire and grabs at chocolate and gram crackers from the tray next to them.

“I don’t know,” He says honestly. “I keep seeing Ally…staring at me.”

Scott glances up at Ally before letting out a laugh, which surprises Isaac. “I think what you’re picking up on is less of a wolf thing and more of a _human_ thing.” Isaac’s eyebrows scrunch together in confusion before the other sighs. “Come on, Isaac. You know I’m not very good with biology. Pheromones, visual perception, audition…” He elbows him. “Oilfraction.”

“I think you mean olfaction.”

He huffs, muttering a ‘whatever’ before continuing. “She likes you, she’s _attracted_ to you.” Isaac’s eyes widen because _no_ , wait, he hadn’t even considered that. That can’t be the thing he’s been trying to figure out about her since he met her. “I think it’s kind of cute really, that she thinks you’re not with anyone.”

‘Not with anyone’ sounds a hell of a lot like ‘ _belongs_ to anyone’ and he glances over at Scott because wow, okay, where did this possessiveness come from? But Scott smiles innocently, like he never said a damn thing and pops a marshmallow in his mouth before constructing a messy and sticky smores sandwich.

“You’re just being paranoid.” Scott assures him, breaking the sandwich in half and handing part of it to him. Their fingers brush as he takes it from him and Isaac bites into it and savors in the all too sweet sensation dancing on his tongue. “There’s nothing else going on.”

And the topic is closed as simple as that.

“I was thinking,” He leans purposely close to grab for other marshmallows to put on their sticks. He smells like cologne and chocolate and now all Isaac can think about is pheromones and Christ, Scott smells _good_ and how he wants to bury his nose in his neck and _breathe_.  “Since we didn’t get to spend a lot of time at the lake this afternoon, I say we go skinny dipping…you know, _actually_.”

Isaac recalls the so called skinny dipping at the motel pool and knows exactly where Scott is going with this.

“Without clothes.” He says bluntly and Scott grins.

“You’ll be completely safe from the sun this time.” And fuck, it’s like someone is kneeling on his throat with that one. He should tell him, just open his mouth and _tell_ him about the prospect of Wolfsbane—

but Isaac just smiles, bumps their shoulders together, agreeing, and the moment to say something is lost in the flames licking at their marshmallows.

0o0o0o0o

After an agonizingly long game of quarters the group eventually separates into singles and pairs as the night drags on. The only bright side was that they had company and Scott had consumed a pretty sizable amount of alcohol that would have had any human stumbling over their own feet…so he pretended. Isaac’s always thought Scott would be a cuddly drunk; it fits perfectly with his touchy personality and the fact that he’s so optimistic. So when he’s ‘tipsy’ everything is _awesome_ and it’s like nothing bad in the world can touch him—which is fine with Scott because he’s rather busy touching everyone _else_ anyways. He kisses Allison’s cheek and plays with Lydia’s hair, he smacks Stiles’ ass once as a congratulatory for an awesome round of quarters and then proceeds to hang on Isaac for the rest of the game.

And he is so not complaining.

It’s not too over the top and while Scott mumbles that Isaac is tall every so often, Charlie and Ally seem to be having a great time, happiness is rolling off of their pores in waves and for some reason that calms him, it makes him feel noticeably better. Stiles stops calling him sour wolf 2.0 and he kicks ass in a round of quarters. All’s well that ends well…that is, until he feels eyes on him again.

And this time they aren’t Ally’s.

They belong to Allison and she’s watching closely as Scott mutters in his ear, still playing drunk for Charlie and Ally’s sake but it’s enough of _something_ that Allison walks over to them and suggests (demands) that Scott get some water.

Allison nearly manhandles him through the back door to the kitchen as Isaac offers to help Ally with her technique during another round of quarters—she smells like beer, makeup foundation and roses. He tries to focus his hearing to inside the cabin but the sound of a sink being turned on drowns Allison and Scott out.

0o0o0o0o0o

When he excuses himself to the bathroom Ally looks disappointed but he winks at her and guides her hand in a precise way that easily lands a quarter in a cup. She reminds him of someone when she smiles, maybe the way Erica used to before she was turned. It’s sweet and small and shown to him like a secret that’s purposely hidden away.

He manages to sneak up on Scott and Allison as he hides behind the doorframe that leads to the kitchen. He made sure to come through the front door slow and as quiet as he could; while Allison might not be a werewolf she’s annoyingly perceptive. And the last thing he wants is for her to catch him trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. He knows he shouldn’t but he can’t _not_ and so he finds himself with his back is pressed against a far wall as he listens. They’re already knee deep in an argument and because he had taken his time to not get caught while working his way in here he had obviously missed the gentler beginnings of this conversation.

But as it turns out he doesn’t need to do much guess work to figure out what he’s missed.

“All I was _trying_ to say was that I was worried about you and Isaac.”

“And you still can’t give me a good reason why.” Scott’s voice is strained, like he’s trying to keep his frustration in check or keep his voice quiet so Isaac doesn’t overhear, he’s not sure.

Allison sounds like she’s digging her fingers into her hair and he can almost make out the slight swooping motion of her locks landing on her shoulders. “Ever since Derek kicked him out and he started living with you, it’s like…you hung the damn moon. The way he follows you around and looks after you, I feel like he’s adopted you as his new alpha or something.”

Isaac knows the alpha topic is such a sensitive matter to bring up because that’s the last thing Scott ever wanted; to be an alpha of his own pack or be in a pack in general. It’s never even crossed his mind that he’s really traded in an alpha for another, unconsciously, since he made the move into the McCall household. He guesses it makes a lot of sense, Isaac smells like Scott and Scott smells like home, like pack. He looks up to him, he trusts him, he’d probably do anything he asked with a minimal amount of hesitation if Scott pressed him, and it’s just—it’s so much _more_ than attraction or admiration.

“And would that really be the worst thing?” Scott asks and his question surprises Isaac a little. “He hurled a _glass_ at his head before throwing him out and not to mention, he’s not the best werewolf obi wan out there. He left Isaac basically unprepared to deal with his wolf.”

He wants to lean into the sense of pride that’s swirling in his chest at Scott sticking up for him but at the same time he hates how weak and dependent it makes him sound.

“Just because you have a father doesn’t make them your dad and just because you have the title of an alpha doesn’t mean you’re a _good_ one.”

Isaac looks at the floor as the analogy hits home more than he would have liked. He can hear Allison’s breath leave her chest in aggravated puffs. “That’s what I mean. Isaac can be unpredictable, he wolfed out in Stiles’ car and nearly destroyed the seat—” And wow, Isaac is never going to live that down it seems.

Scott speaks over her. “He’s claustrophobic, Allison, and with good reason!”

“He’s unpredictable and irrational,” Allison argues, trying to make her point before both of their voices carry through the plaster and wood to the back deck. “Not to mention that he can be violent without thinking it through first. He nearly attacked Ally yesterday,” Isaac feels a solid weight settle on his chest, a little betrayed by the accusation. Does she seriously not remember that before this quaint little meet and greet that Ally had had a _gun_ pointed at her? “What if he accidently goes after your mom? He could hurt her.”

He hears Scott’s heartbeat accelerate; he doesn’t even acknowledge the comment about Ally but instead goes for the jugular of Allison’s statement. “Isaac would _never_ hurt my mom.”

Isaac swallows and shifts gently, looking down at his feet. Scott has to know that he would never hurt his mom, not after…not after everything she’s done for him. The fact that she took him in and offered a roof over his head, a place where he feels safe and loved and wanted, that she never asked any questions other than if he liked lasagna and if he finished his homework before bed. He would never do anything to hurt Mrs. McCall…she reminds him so much of his own mother sometimes, he’d never jeopardize that….at least, not intentionally. And he thinks, maybe, that’s where Allison is going with this. He can be irrational and quick to judge, he can let his wolf slip through his fingers and lose himself in primal sensations that feel better than anything he’s ever felt.

But Scott…but Scott’s always there and that _grounds_ him and that has to mean _something_ , right?

Allison’s voice breaks his thoughts, it’s quiet and resigned. “I don’t trust him.”

“I thought you and Isaac were okay with one another now.” He sighs, his voice muffled like he’s pinching the bridge of his nose. Isaac’s heart swells for him, he sounds tired, he sounds so incredibly _tired_.

“We are but…that doesn’t mean I still don’t like to keep my eye on him. He hasn’t earned my trust.”

“Well he’s earned mine.” Scott snaps, like the conversation is over and it sounds like he more than wants it to be. Isaac hears the echo of his feet against the tile like he’s getting ready to walk out of the room but Allison is rebutting quicker than he can get away.

“How can you be so quick to forget everything he’s done? He tried to kill Lydia, he’s _attacked_ you—”

There are not many things Isaac has grown to regret but that is definitely one of them.  He doesn’t want to be anywhere near this conversation anymore, he shouldn’t have decided to eavesdrop in the first place. It for one reason or another is starting to feel like a warped fight that he’s heard between his parents before his mother passed away.  He’s not sure if Scott is even aware of his presence as he starts to move down the hallway towards the living room; his heartbeat and breathing have steadily decreased since the last time he’s really concentrated. If Scott’s given any indication that he knows, Isaac can’t pick up on it. But at this point he’s willing to bet that that Wolfsbane has probably fucked with his heightened senses a little bit. 

“You’re one to talk,” Scott counters, getting louder again. It seems he’s given up on whether or not he cares if Isaac hears them. “I seem to remember _you_ attacking me and Isaac not too long ago. Am I just supposed to not trust you anymore either?”

Isaac waits for her to tell him that that’s different even though Isaac knows damn well that it’s not but the response doesn’t come and Scott has apparently made his point.

“Look,” Scott sighs, running a hand through his hair (Isaac knows because that’s one of his tell signs when he’s upset). “When I was bit I had to figure everything out pretty much on my own. I don’t want that for Isaac. He doesn’t…he doesn’t have anyone but me.”

He hesitates by the front door, his hand on the knob. He knows Scott’s intentions are nothing but pure, that all he wants is to make sure that he isn’t alone, that he has someone to depend on—and maybe it’s the irritation in his voice, or perhaps the fact that he sounds so tired, but Isaac can’t help but feel like he’s some sort of obligation with that admission to Allison.

And even though it’s ridiculous, it hurts a lot more than he can put into words. The kind of hurt that burrows down and etches itself into bone. That stays with you. He _knows_ that hurt and he understands it more than he would like to.

“Isaac isn’t going anywhere and that’s just how it’s going to be. Whether you like it or not.”

Neither is quick to talk about how that sounds a lot like a threat and he’s out the door and down the steps before Allison even opens her mouth to form a semblance of a reply.

 


	9. That type of Rage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, it’s been a rough two days for me and I just didn’t have time to edit 11 pages. Enjoy this!

When Isaac steps back out onto the deck, Lydia is twirling a piece of hair between her fingers and smiling devilishly at Charlie as he recounts a summer spent here with his parents. They both sound a little tipsy, Charlie's words are meshing together and Lydia’s breathing is heavier than normal. Stiles is shooting daggers at both of them from across the campfire, muttering under his breath that _no one_ is having sex in his goddamn cabin unless it's with him.

But as he turns his attention around the fire he doesn't see Ally anywhere. Isaac frowns and sticks his nose in the air, trying to catch her scent and manages to pick up a hint of her perfume in the breeze that's coming in off the lake. He should probably stick around for when Allison and Scott come back out so it seems like he didn’t just spend the better part of ten minutes eavesdropping on _everything_ that they had said about him. But he can’t find the energy to sit next to Stiles and deal with the jealousy that’s practically leaking off of him or the pungent hormones that smell too much like sweat and primal based _want_ surrounding Charlie and Lydia.

Before he can change his mind he turns to head back down the steps, through the grass and out towards the lake where he picked up on Ally’s scent. She’s not very far away but for some reason the prospect of her heading down to the water by herself in the dark with basically only the low hanging moon to guide her footing makes him uncomfortable. His improved vision in the dark helps him immensely when it comes to stepping over overturned rocks, roots above the dirt, dips in the earth and tree branches…to be quite honest he’s got no idea how someone without perfect eyesight makes it down here in the dark without tripping over something or themselves. Not to mention if the siblings aren’t the threat that Isaac thinks they might be there _still_ could be something out there that’s keeping a close eye on this cabin. He doesn’t know Charlie or Ally very well but that doesn’t mean he wants them to get hurt as some sort of collateral damage either.

Isaac really wants to believe that all of this is just what Scott suggested, a mixture of paranoia and not scenting Ally’s attraction to him correctly but…he also said that he’s got to start trusting his senses. Because his wolf intuitively knows more than he does and it’s been hinting at him for a while now that something just isn’t quite right.

Ally is sitting on an exposed root under a tree near the bank of the river, her flip flops are off and she’s dipping her toes into the water. She hears him coming and tenses because she doesn’t know who it is until he sits next to her, slowly getting comfortable as her shoulders relax. Neither of them speak for a few moments, taking in the surroundings instead. Isaac listens to the steady sound of her heartbeat and the slow suction of her breathing as his eyes flitter across the top of the lake water. Insects lazily bounce against the surface and he’s surprised that none of them seem to get their wings wet enough to drown.

“Do you feel better?” Ally asks, turning her head. She probably can’t see him very well in the dark but the outline of his face is most likely highlighted by the moon reflecting off the water.

He’s confused by the question a moment because, no, eavesdropping on Scott and Allison actually just made him feel worse instead of better like he thought it would. But then he realizes she’s probably talking about earlier today when he got sick in the woods.

He clears his throat, “Oh, yeah. A lot better. Heat had been getting to me.”

She hums. “You don’t think with all of the trees that it can make it past that shade but…it’s almost like the leaves hone in the heat. Like…the rainforest or something.” Ally blushes, he can smell it, like chalk dust. “All that humidity, like someone put a plastic dome over the forest.”

Isaac smiles softly, leaning closer to her, which doesn’t help the blush situation at all. “I think you’re in the wrong story, King.” He teases, making her laugh softly.

“You know that one?”

He nods. “I love to read.”

He hadn’t really gotten into reading until his mother and brother passed; any story was better than his at that point. It was soothing to place himself in a world where his father didn’t exist, in place that didn’t hurt or break his bones. The library was always somewhere he could hide out in for hours at a time when his father was on a particularly bad tangent and the librarian even let him stay after closing hours when she saw a black and blue mark under his eye the one day.

“My mom used to read to Charlie and I all the time, especially when we came up here. The lake sort of reminds me of her, peaceful. You know?”

Isaac nods softly, leaning back a little before looking out at the water. He can tell that she had just lost her parents recently, the wound open and still fresh, the ache of it clear on her face and the way she carries herself. He understands, in a way, that sort of longing to be close to someone lost because missing them is almost too painful to deal with. He used to hide inside his mother’s closet for weeks after she had died just because all her clothes still smelled like a mixture of laundry detergent and her perfume.

“I’m really sorry about your parents.” He says after a moment, his voice is soft and almost gets carried away in a passing breeze. But he figures he should offer something since he hadn’t had a chance earlier in the day.

As much of a relief it is to lose his father, he still finds himself mourning the father figure that had disappeared a long time ago. That had been his real father, the person without the bourbon soaked memories, without violent hands, harsh words; someone he’d lost before the kanima had ripped his muscles and skin from his bones.

Ally runs a hand through her hair before tucking a piece behind her ear. “Car accident,” She shrugs her shoulder but he can tell it still bothers her, even though she’s probably had to tell this story a million times to so many different people. The action should be monotonous but…it isn’t, the wound as it starts to heal is ripped open every time. “Someone drove through a red light and ran them off the road.”

The amount of pain that’s in her voice is enough to nearly take his breath away, it’s a cold grip reaching inside of his chest and squeezing his windpipe. He empathizes, knows that losing a parent can sometimes be like losing a part of yourself, that connection to family, that blood, that kind of love, something that can’t be replicated or replaced.

“They didn’t even stop,” She chokes out and laughs but its humorless and broken. She wraps her arms around herself but Isaac knows she’s not cold; she’s trying to hold herself together. “Who does that? Who doesn’t even… _stop_?”

Part of him doesn’t know what to say; Ally isn’t looking for some sort of answer, the questions are rhetorical because there are _no_ answers as to why random tragedies have to happen to good people. He hates for thinking it but he briefly wonders about the person in the car that had hit Ally’s parents; he thinks about what kind of life they lived and what could have provoked them to just keep on driving.

 He wonders _why_ too often.

Anyone can be pushed to become someone they’re not with the right amount of pressure. The old just buckles under the new, is swept under the rug, is changed and forgotten. He wonders about the driver, he wonders how scared or angry or alone they had to have felt to just…keep on driving.

To leave a couple dying in their car. Quick and violent.

Isaac stops thinking about it when he hears Ally sniffle beside him and quickly wipe under her eye with the back of her wrist. He knows she’s trying to hide this reaction from him but he can smell her tears, strong and overpowering like salt water. He’s never been one to have the right words; they always seem to get caught between his brain and voice box, he doesn’t know what to say and if he does manage to force syllables out it’s always at the wrong time or place. Or just simply wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Ally says, when the moment has passed and there’s been too much silence. Isaac just shakes his head because she really doesn’t need to apologize to him. “I didn’t mean—”

She’s embarrassed. “No, don’t.” He gently bumps his shoulder against hers because she can’t see his soft smile in the dark. “Don’t be.”

His eardrums pick up the gentle thrumming of the get together on the deck a few feet behind them, glances over his shoulder to see Scott moving around the campfire to sit next to Stiles and ask him where he is. He licks his lips and looks over at Ally, placing his hand over hers to squeeze before standing.

“We should get back.”

Ally curls her hair around her ear before nodding, moving to slip her flip flops back on before taking Isaac’s hand to help her over the exposed root of the tree and up the small hill to more even land away from the lake.

“Did they ever catch the guy who did it?” Isaac asks and then wonders if he shouldn’t press on something so personal.

It’s clear that while Ally looks like she’s coping with what happened she’s still very distraught over it. Which is perfectly understandable. Even though Ally has opened up to him about what happened that doesn’t translate into any of this being his business. As they walk towards the cabin the light around them grows clearer and she can look up at him and actually see his face. She stops a moment and shakes her head.

“No, never.” Her fingernails dig into her arm; he can hear the catching of flesh, like a pin snagging the skin of a grape. “I just wish the police had figured out who it was.”

There’s something flickering between the letters of her words, exposed to him like he can reach out and touch it, fingers running over braille. The spike in her heartbeat, the venom etched into her words, the quickening of her pulse as she looks up at him with eyes that are weary from heartache.

Rage.

He understands that type of anger; it calls out to him for an embrace like an old friend. That anger, while easy to hide, is the kind that never disappears. It just stays there, it builds, it eats away at your very insides until there’s nothing left but to _do_ something about it.

Isaac swallows as Ally gives a small smile in his direction before turning to head up the stairs to where everyone is on the deck. He tries to picture it, the rage in her voice filling up her entire body and what she’d do if she knew who had taken her parents from her. Revenge is a potent thing; it starts out small, like cancer, a single harmless cell. It’s not dangerous until it attaches to other cells, until it breeds and builds and latches on, until it’s breathing with you and beating with your heart and filling your veins. Until it’s a part of your very being.

He wonders what she would do to the person if she knew who it was.

He thinks she’s not exactly a threat, barely a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet with a kind smile and a pretty blush when she’s close to him. But then he thinks about the person behind the wheel that had hit her parents and that it’s very easy to become someone you'd never thought you could be with just the right amount of leverage.

Isaac hates to admit he knows that because of experience more than anything else.

0o0o0o0o

When he was little and his mother would give him baths, sometimes he would hold his breath under the water just to see how long he could. She’d tell him time and time again, upon pulling him up, about how that wasn’t good for him. But it wasn’t like she was the best person to take advice on what was and what wasn’t good for someone. She drank too much and began to smell like an ashtray instead of her perfume, her fingers were rough and her smile wasn’t bright and he hadn’t needed werewolf senses to know how lost she was. How being with his father was eating her up from the inside out.

He’d sink into the tub when his parents would fight and their words would drown in his ears as water rushed to his eardrums. He’d hold his breath until black dots swarmed his eyesight and he grew dizzy and his lungs ached for oxygen to the point where it felt like his ribs were buckling in on themselves and the only thing he could hear was the frantic beating of his own heart.

Isaac bursts through the surface of the lake water, taking a large intake of air as his arms balance to tread water as he breathes.

“Dude,” Scott says, a little further away.

His hair is matted down from the water, plastered across his forehead as the moon reflects off the water droplets on his shoulders. Theluminescent beads travel gracefully along the strong muscles of Scott’s collar bone before slipping back into the lake.

“I didn’t think you were ever coming back up.” He treads mostly with his arms and the action of it sends small waves of water washing over his shoulders. “You could be on the swim team with a pair of lungs like that.”

Isaac snorts and shakes his head adamantly. “I think Matt has officially ruined the prospect of me ever joining the swim team.”

There’s a small amount of humor in his voice but he means what he says. Not to mention his dad, surprise, has poisoned that aspect of it also. After all, the whole Matt thing wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for him.

Scott smiles. “I don’t think I blame you.”

Isaac and Scott had managed to slip away from the cleanup crew after Charlie and Ally had left to go home, they still had a ton of things to pack away before they left in a day or so and couldn’t stay any longer. By then it had reached one in the morning, everyone had said their goodbyes and Charlie had given Allison his number while Ally managed a small smile at Isaac, thanking him for listening.

He still has no idea how they managed to sneak away from the group (and by group he means Stiles) without so much of an eye roll or sarcastic comment. He thinks it has something to do with the fact that Allison and Scott won’t make eye contact with one another and maybe werewolf hearing and eavesdropping skills aren’t needed to know what they had been arguing about in the kitchen.

He wants to say something about it but his mouth doesn’t form the words and Scott makes the same choice in avoiding it so it hangs over them, like an invisible fog, settling on their shoulders and seeping into their windpipes, heavy on their lungs.

Isaac swallows and clears his throat, looking away as Scott paddles closer to him. His hands reach out and settle low on his hips, they’ve forgone clothes just like they discussed earlier. So when Scott’s thumbs brush below his pelvis and through a tuft of hair guiding lower—a sharp shiver runs down his spine to the point where he nearly jolts.

And Scott is too fucking pleased with that grin on his face.

“Why so jumpy, Lahey?” He teases; running his thumbs over his skin and making him do it again.

Isaac huffs and makes a move like he’s going to push Scott away but the shorter wraps his arms around him and draws him close. They’ve drifted to a part of lake that is closer to the shore and Isaac grounds his feet into the gritty bottom that reminds him of sand.

“Knock it off.”

“Make me.” Scott challenges, leaning closer to dip his nose into the curve of Isaac’s throat.

Even in the chilled lake water, Isaac feels himself stir below his waist and purposely drags himself forward into Scott’s stomach. He hears a gasp claw up the other’s throat and takes the distraction as a chance to slip free and knock his legs up from under him. Scott goes under and Isaac skitters back so he can’t grab at him when he finally makes it to the surface and floats on his side, grinning when Scott splashes him.

They spend a while in the lake, floating around one another, occasionally getting into heated tussles that involve way too many kisses and the wandering of hands. When they pull themselves from the water to put their clothes on their skin is pruned and bodies are cold. Even though the prospect of fooling around somehow near the dock sounds like a good idea they don’t want to get caught so a half n hour later Isaac finds them laying on a grassy hill near the lake, looking up through the trees. The moon has moved across the dark black night sky, the soft ring surrounding it looks smudged against the stars, a lazy haze of soft brightness.

His body is still wet from the river so the fabric of his shirt is sticking to his back but it’s oddly comforting somehow, his clothes hugging his skin tight. Scott is breathing slow and shallow next to him, his hand close enough to feel the heat of his fingertips but not moving to touch him.

“You smelled like her.”

He nods. “Yeah,” Scott means Ally and Isaac bites his tongue on telling him who _he_ exactly smells like (vanilla and pine and Allison’s shampoo). He’s one to talk. “The lake water should have taken care of most of that.”

“When I came back out onto the deck you weren’t there. What did you and her talk about?”

Isaac isn’t sure on whether he should tell the truth or not. Regardless of his allegiance to Scott, he feels something like betrayal crawl up his throat at the prospect of admitting what Ally spoke about in terms of her parents.

“Nothing really,” His eyes trace the stars into patterns; he settles his hands onto his own stomach and knots his fingers. “About her parents.” Isaac walks around specifics but still manages to tell Scott something to answer his question. “I think she hasn’t really had anyone to talk to about it…I kind of understand what she’s going through.”

Scott leans up and turns onto his side, his hand running through Isaac’s damp curls. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my mom.” He admits quietly, his fingers playing with a few strands of hair by his ear.

Isaac looks up at Scott and takes the hand off his hair and holds it in his own, squeezing hard enough that his bones creak. “That’s not going to happen, Scott.” He tries to put as much reassurance into his voice as he can, knows that that’s a genuine fear of the boy beside him. “Okay?”

Scott nods and lets himself fold into Isaac’s side, his nose and forehead pressing into his shoulder as the taller rubs circles into his knuckles. They’re quiet for a moment, the only noise between them crickets, the brushing of tree branches in a soft wind and their breathing meshing with the thumps of their hearts.

“I think I’d run away,” Scott says softly, into the fabric of Isaac’s shirt. He can feel the heat from his breath seep into his pores. “If anything happened to my mom,” He admits. “I’d run away.”

He breathes out, eyes flickering over the low hanging moon before tracing patterns into the back of Scott’s hand with his thumb. He understands that contemplation more than he should…but he doesn’t know if Scott would really do as he says, even if he lost his mother. He’s not the type of person to just up and run, abandoning the people who might need him the most. Even if he’s desperate or has lost all hope, Isaac just doesn’t see it happening.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t entertain the thought with him. Running away. Away from Beacon Hills and all of its supernatural problems. Away from the weight digging into Scott’s shoulders. Away from responsibilities and pain and almost certain death.

He’s thought about running away before, after his mom and Camden died. After he was left with his father and bruised memories and empty beer bottles, broken bones and torn skin. He thought about running away with Erica and Boyd during that lacrosse game and then once more after Erica had died.

But at least he can admit he hasn’t thought about it in a while because of Scott.

“Would you ever do it?” Scott asks him, tilting his chin to look up at him. “Run away?”

_Scott glanced down at the metal table before him, playing with a package of gauze before looking over his shoulder at Isaac. His eyes were cautious, contemplative, rolling over his words in his head before speaking._

_“_ _I’m not going anywhere, if that’s what you mean. I have too many people here who need me.”_

Isaac cards his fingers through Scott’s hair as he runs over those familiar words spoken in Deaton’s clinic; they barely knew one another at that point. Scott hadn’t been as sure about Isaac as a person but Scott had earned his trust with barely even trying. Ever since the rave, ever since he learned that there was someone who actually cared about his well being and had no trouble admitting it right to his face.

Erica and Boyd had been leaving, with or without him. The family dynamics of his pack that he had convinced himself were there was getting torn apart at the prospect of them disappearing to find another alpha. The trust mentality was broken...and Isaac hadn’t known what to do; to stay or run away. Scott had seemed well rounded; he seemed trustworthy, grounded in his morals and his dependability. He was invested in always trying to do the right thing, which had included worrying about Isaac’s safety when he had neither wanted it nor deserved it at the time.

Scott wasn’t running away because he had too many people who depended on him to be there; too many people who needed him. Isaac wonders if that will ever change, if for some reason Scott would run if no one was there to need him anymore.

_Isaac nodded, glancing down at his shoes to avoid the wandering and analyzing stare of the wolf across from him._

“ _Well, I guess that makes me lucky cause uh…cause I don’t have anyone.” He figured it was as simple as that and got up to leave; even though he could basically feel the sympathy that rolled off Scott’s shoulders as his eyes bored into his back._

Well, that’s changed too, hasn’t it?

“Maybe.” Isaac says slowly and turns the question right back on Scott, asking him where he’d even go.

Scott laughs and sits up, his back has grass on it but Isaac doesn’t move to brush it off. He watches the muscles strain and contract in his lower back and shoulders as he speaks.

“I could go see the world’s largest ball of twine…open up a coffee shop on a corner in New York.” He can hear the smile in his voice. “My own little hole in the wall.”

Isaac doesn’t know if he’s serious or not, the two comments seem too unrelated but he knows they’re both deflecting at this point, knows they don’t want to talk about something that they should.

“Scott,” He grins, all teeth. “You suck at making coffee.”

He turns his head to the side and Isaac can see the outline of a small smile, a twitch of his lips before he shifts his body to face him. “Guess I’d have to take you with me then.”

There is a long moment between them in which Scott just stares thoughtfully at Isaac, letting his words seep in, letting him understand their meaning. _I’m not leaving without you_ and he guesses he can at least find some comfort in that even though this whole conversation is supposed to be hypothetical and not an actual plan.

“Guess you’d have to. You probably shouldn’t leave me here by myself…since I can be ‘unpredictable and irrational’.” He lets it slip out before he can stop himself and he can feel the tension returning to Scott’s shoulders, sees his smile fade from his face. “Not to mention I can be violent.”

They’ve been dancing around this damn thing for hours, Isaac pretending that what he’s overheard hasn’t made him angry (deep down all that translates into is that he’s _hurt_ ) and Scott pretending he didn’t hear Isaac eavesdropping on the whole thing.

“So you _did_ hear the conversation between Allison and me.” Scott looks down at his hands on his lap.

It’s not entirely an accusation but it feels enough like one. “Even if I hadn’t followed you two inside, you weren’t exactly quiet. I could have probably heard it back in Beacon Hills.”

Scott can obviously sense how upset he is through his tone because his eyes soften and he goes to touch his leg as Isaac sits up and wow, that shouldn’t piss him off even more but for some reason it does. He’s just…he’s so damn _frustrated_ because no matter what he seems to do he can’t break even with Allison. It’s like she wants something out of him that he just can’t give. And he knows he wouldn’t care, wouldn’t even be trying to figure it out if it weren’t so important to Scott that they get along. Because Isaac? Isaac doesn’t really give a shit. He considers not working together, or better yet not even speaking to one another, a pretty fair exchange since Allison doesn’t trust him and he’s still bitter about being stabbed thirty times in the back.

“She’s just…being protective. You understand, don’t you?” Typical Scott, always trying to avoid a confrontation unless he can’t. “She does have a point…sometimes you do things without thinking about them.”

Isaac isn’t in the mood to make this easy for him and it’s a low blow to go after one of his less than admirable traits. Sure, he can be irrational—but it’s never without a good reason. He’s recalling the time he punched Ethan senseless during that bus ride to the track meet or maybe that threesome dance to distract Jackson at the rave to go through with the injection plan hadn’t been the best idea. But he had done both things for Scott, which had been reason enough.

“No, I guess I don’t. But I guess if you agree with her I should move my things out of your place before I do something _irrational_ , like hurt your mom.”

He stands up and Scott quickly does the same. He grabs his forearm as gently as he can but Isaac shakes him off. Isaac isn’t great with sudden movements, especially in the midst of a fight where he can feel the anger leaking off the other’s body. It reminds him too much of conversations he’s had with his father and that usually generates a certain amount of fear against his will. But he’s not scared of Scott (scared _of_ him and scared of _losing_ him are two completely different things). And while he usually appreciates Scott’s thoughtfulness, the gentle gesture does nothing more but piss him off because how many times does he have to tell him that he’s not made of glass? That he’s not going to break.

“That’s not what I meant.” Scott lets his hand fall to his side.

“Is that why you’re so reluctant to tell everyone about us?” He spits, the resentment and fear and anger and hurt that’s been building up for days finally reaches a peak in his voice. He’s so fucking tired of gray he can’t stand being there for one second longer. “Because someone like you couldn’t possibly be with someone like me.”

The words are unspoken but they dangle loosely in the air; someone damaged, someone broken, someone violent and unreasonable and capable of switching his loyalties if that’s what he absolutely _has_ to do.

Scott’s mouth opens and closes, his face falls like he can’t honestly believe Isaac has inferred something like that and his heart starts beating wildly in his chest.

“Isaac, I’m not ashamed of you.” It’s wounded sounding and comes out in a breath.

He refuses to let the hurt in Scott’s voice get to him even though it feels like pins and needs sticking into his skin; his chest aches because of it. He never wants to be the one to put that look on his face or pain in his voice…but he has to keep a clear head. He’d rather deal with this angry. If that disappears he’ll retract his words and refuse to say things he’s been thinking about for a long time. It’ll just build up inside his body, stay between the etching of his bones and the connective tissue in his lungs. Become a silent part of him.

“That’s not why we agreed not to tell anyone.” He argues, his voice raising an octave.

Isaac laughs, the sound harsh and rough in his throat. “Right, your ‘priorities’.” Isaac recalls from the conversation at the gas station. He bites the inside of his cheeks hard. “I’m not asking you to rearrange them.”

Even though Isaac thinks he should, which is probably selfish but it’s _not_ Scott’s job to save everyone. “I’m asking you to consider this, whatever this is,” He points between the both of them, signifying a deafening _us_ , “Even being one.”

He can’t take the amount of sympathy coming from Scott, it’s sickeningly sweet smell is enough to make him sick. He turns on his heel and just starts running, into the woods, his wolf scratching at his veins to provoke him to turn it into all fours. Scott tries to call after him but the sound is drowned out with rustling leaves, feet hitting dirt and his own heartbeat in his ears.

Isaac doesn’t stop and he doesn’t look back.

0o0o0o0

It’s been a long time since Isaac ran with no sort of direction or destination; he runs until his legs burn and his lungs ache and when he can no longer hear the echoing of Scott’s heartbeat gently reverberating in his ears. He has no choice but to wander back, eventually, it’s not like Beacon Hills is close enough to disappear to…and even if it was, where would he go? Back to Derek’s? Maybe back to his father’s abandoned house? It’s a truthful statement that Isaac doesn’t have anyone but Scott no matter how much it makes him feel like some sort of obligation.

He’s gone for an hour before he makes his way back to the _Stilinski_ cabin.

It’s late and his limbs hurt and through the trees he can see that the lights are still on in the kitchen where Scott (and Stiles, according to the fast chatter and second heartbeat) are apparently holding an all nighter until he comes back. He rubs the back of his neck as he reaches the bottom of the deck steps, seriously debating spending the night outside when the back door opens and both of them hurry out.

Isaac has a firm grip on the steps railing and tries to avoid Scott’s gaze, which he can feel burning into his chest and neck.

“Dude, we’ve been waiting up for you for _forever_ ,” Stiles stresses and when Isaac look up Scott is equally trying his hardest to avoid Isaac’s eyes too. “This,” He makes a circular motion to his face. “Does not work for me without some Grade A beauty sleep.”

Isaac walks up the stairs to the landing and is about to reply when a sharp noise cuts through the air and pierces his werewolf hearing like a knife.

_PSEWWW_

Isaac turns in the direction of the sound and realizes a second too late that that’s not the greatest idea he’s ever had. He _sees_ the arrow pierce his chest before he feels it and the force has him stumbling back onto his heels. He lets out a low growl of pain before another arrow hits him in his upper stomach; Stiles and Scott scurrying to catch him as the last arrow causes him to lose his balance. He collapses back into their arms, Scott is screaming and Stiles is scrambling to help him pull Isaac through back kitchen door.

Then the pain comes, with his blood seeping through his clothing and dripping onto Scott and his jeans and the white tiled floor of the kitchen. It’s searing, white hot, like someone poured liquid fire into his chest cavity and stomach, it’s so overwhelming that he can’t even _breathe_ properly. He opens his mouth and all that leaves it are short little pathetic gasps and fingers digging into Scott’s forearms as he struggles to pull him into the living room. 

As Scott and Stiles put him on the couch and Allison and Lydia make their way downstairs, awakened from the commotion and the screaming—all Isaac can do is stare down at those arrows protruding out of his body and wow—

so much for that ‘remaining sanguine’ thing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Isaac and Ally discuss is called Under the Dome by Stephan King. Thank you for reading!


	10. Realizations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three more chapters after this! Enjoy :)

He passes out at some point but he’s not sure for how long. All he knows is that when he opens his eyes again the arrows are still sticking out of his body and his blood is warm and sticky against his skin and the fabric of his clothes. He’s angled into the corner of the couch and he tries not to move as he glances up at the group surrounding him, they’re all far too close because the air feels like it’s suffocating his windpipe. Allison and Lydia are seated in the loveseat across from him while Stiles hovers near the end of the couch, Scott is sitting right against the side of his chest, hands tugging gently at his shirt to try and remove it from his body so he can get a good look at the arrows.

“Wait, Scott, don’t touch them.” Stiles hands shoots out and grabs gently at Scott’s forearm.

Scott looks up in confusion as Isaac shifts back into the couch, the pain nearly taking his breath away at every brief movement. “What? Why?”

Isaac notices his hands are shaking and tilts his head up at Stiles whose eyes are already on him. He feebly shakes his head. “No wolfsbane.” He’d feel the effects already if there was any present.

Scott’s eyes widen and his attention snaps to Stiles. “ _Wolfsbane_? Why would the arrows be dipped in wolfsbane?”

Stiles rubs the back of his neck and makes a pointed look towards Isaac but no, he’s really not in the sharing caring kind of mood…seeing as how he _still_ has two arrows sticking out out of his _body_.

“When Isaac came back sick from the woods we thought it might be something other than heat exhaustion.”

“Wolfsbane.” Scott whispers and Isaac can see him connecting the symptom dots in his head.

“And you knew?” Allison’s accusatory voice pierces his ears; her eyes are wide on Isaac’s form. “Don’t you think that’s something you should have _told_ us?”

“We didn’t want to alarm anyone,” Stiles defends, which is surprising coming from him since he’s the one who wanted Isaac to tell Scott in the first placd. “We weren’t sure if it was or not…but uh, arrows shot at Isaac seems a hell of a lot like a confirmation. I think someone is targeting him.”

“The point is,” Isaac wheezes out as he sits up straighter on the couch, tired of this debate of whether or not they have a serious problem on their hands. “Is that these don’t have any wolfsbane on them so can we _please_ get them out of me?”

Scott instructs Stiles to run into the kitchen and get him scissors and to find a first aid kit. Even though the wound should heal when the arrow is pulled out the other wolf doesn’t seem to want to take any chances. When he comes back into the room, everyone is silent as Scott goes to work, cutting Isaac’s shirt off in one fluid motion. He helps him sit up as straight as he can and Isaac’s one hand shoots to the arrow sticking out of his midsection, holding it in place as it tries to jostle with his movement.

Scott kneels on the floor, facing him, eyes wide and concerned. Isaac almost wants to look away, can’t take the look on his face no more than the pain circulating throughout his torso. His body is trying to heal around the arrows, which is going to make pulling them out extremely painful. He pants softly as Scott’s hands encloses around the one holding the arrow near his stomach and squeezes gently.

“Let me see.” He says softly, pulling his hand away, triggering Isaac to wince and grit his teeth.

Scott squeezes the arrow in his fist and is about to pull it out, Isaac nodding to give him permission to just do it. But when he starts to tug the motion isn’t fluid and his whole body reacts by arching as he howls in pain. And Scott…Scott hesitates, he freezes, eyes wide with uncertainty.

It’s then Isaac realizes how bad the other’s hands are shaking, his skin soaked in his blood. He catches his scent, the pure _fear_ that’s mixing with tones that are distinctly Scott nearly chokes his throat.

Stiles makes a gagging noise and says something that sounds like ‘Oh God, wow, yeah those are really in there’ as he turns away from the couch and Allison gets up from the loveseat to kneel next to Scott.

Isaac coughs and blood spurts from his lips, leaking down his chin. The arrows can’t stay where they are; his body is trying too hard to heal itself time after time after time as the spears poke and prod his muscles and organs open. Allison places her hand on Scott’s, her eyes analyzing his face. He sees it then, in her eyes, she doesn’t need werewolf senses to understand what’s going on. That this goes deeper than friendship or pack. The realization makes her smell different…or maybe his senses are just going haywire with the combination of pain and adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“Scott, you can do this,” She says gently, lifting his hand to put it around the arrow again. “Swift and smooth. Like pulling off a Bandaid.” She instructs, nodding her head. “Isaac needs you.”

That last part is whispered but Scott seems to hear it because he nods and straightens his back. He licks his lips and dips his face into his own shoulder since his hands are bloodied. “I need you to hold his shoulders, Stiles hold his legs.”

Stiles moans and complains with a question of why can’t Lydia do something like this but Scott growls and his eyes flash yellow at him…which is all Stiles needs in terms of motivation. They get into their positions and wait, squeezing Isaac’s body with as much force as they can manage as Scott pulls the arrows out. It’s quick but that doesn’t make it any less painful and Isaac tries to contain his protests of pain because the last thing he wants to do is worry Scott any more than he already has. The arrows pierce the healed flesh all over again as they’re pulled out, like someone shot them from inside his body. A few whimpers leave his lips as his lungs heave to breathe, Allison’s and Stiles’ hands loosening their hold as the worst part is over.

Scott reaches for Isaac’s hands as the taller tries to control his breathing, their fingers lacing together even though their digits are slick with blood.

Stiles is holding his chest as he shakes his head. “Wow, that was really painful…for me, I mean…” Everyone slowly looks over at him and he raises his eyebrows. “I’m alright, thanks for asking.”

Lydia stands from the loveseat and shakes her head, glancing over at Scott and Isaac’s conjoined hands with a satisfied look on her face. “I knew it, I’m never wrong.”

Allison sort of looks like she’s about to be sick and stands, picking up the arrows. “I’m going to just…take these in the kitchen.”

Scott tears his gaze from Isaac to look at the other three. “Someone should make sure all the doors and windows are locked…”

“Yeah, I’m sure whoever did this isn’t just going to be satisfied with two arrows.” Stiles agrees, grabbing Lydia’s hand to tug her away from the couch to check on other rooms as Allison disappears into the kitchen.

There’s a silence blanketing between them as they’re left alone and after a moment Scott pulls back, letting go of Isaac’s hands to open up the first aid kit. He pulls open a package of gauze with his teeth and untwists the cap of rubbing alcohol, pouring a bit onto the cotton ball like material. Isaac’s wounds have long since closed since the arrows were removed but his skin is still caked with blood.

“Are you okay?” Isaac finally asks as Scott begins to wipe the blood from his stomach and chest. He takes one of the gauze pads himself, wets it with alcohol, and takes most of the red sticky substance off his hands and fingers.

Scott laughs softly but it’s quiet and mostly air leaving his nose. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I’m not the one who had two arrows shot into me.”

“I’m fine…” He looks down at the other’s hands on his torso. “I’m all healed up but your hands are still shaking.” He settles his own on Scott’s, stilling them as best as he can.

Scott swallows audibly, closing his eyes as he leans forward to rest his forehead against Isaac’s shoulder. He can tell he’s breathing in his scent, slow and steady, to calm his own heartbeat and he detangles one of his hands from Scott’s to run his hand through the other’s hair.

When he pulls back his eyes are troubled and Isaac can only guess it’s one of two things. “Are you upset that people found out before you were ready?”

Scott shakes his head and wipes the blood off his hands. “No, it’s not that.” Isaac swallows; the second thing he has in mind as to what’s wrong isn’t any less worrisome. “That was…exactly what I was worried about.”

Isaac sits up a little, suddenly feeling far too naked for this conversation. He watches as Scott frantically puts things back into the first aid box.

“You can’t prevent me from getting hurt.” This is what was at the basis of their last fight, Scott’s goddamn _priorities_. Why is it so hard for him to understand that he can’t protect everyone?

“What if something like that happens when we’re up against the Darach or the alpha pack?” He snaps, the tone causing Isaac to recoil slightly. “I couldn’t even _think_ straight when you were hurt Isaac. I _hesitated_. If I have people depending on me to _lead_ I can’t take the chance that I might hesitate like that.”

 “So what? Distancing yourself from me is going to help with that?” Even if they aren’t together, pulling away doesn’t translate into Scott not caring about him anymore. He can still get hurt, he can still _die_ ; that factor doesn’t change.

“I don’t know!” Scott talks over him, wrapping his arms around himself as he stands. “Maybe?” His voice cracks and the sound reverberates hard in Isaac’s chest; making him realize how lost the other wolf really is. He has _no_ idea what he’s doing and he’s trying to grasp at anything that might comfort him into feeling like he’s in control.

Isaac shakes his head. “Scott…”

“I can’t do this.” Scott whispers, swallowing hard against the moisture filling his eyes.

He starts to panic, the sensation building up in his chest because…not only will he lose Scott but he feels like he’s getting kicked out of Derek’s all over again. He’ll lose his alpha and his adopted home, that safe and secure feeling, he’ll lose Mrs. McCall and the feeling of family he was just starting to accept. He’ll lose the only person he _has_.

“Don’t do this.” Isaac begs but Scott is already turning to leave the room.

And Isaac. Isaac lets him go.

0o0o0o0o

Scott wanders out to the front porch; which probably isn’t the safest place but he can’t spend another minute in the house. The scent of Isaac’s blood and the disappointment and _hurt_ is clogging up his nose and making a lump appear in his throat. He can’t afford to feel like this right now and he wipes the wetness from his eyes and hanging on his eyelashes with his forearm before sitting on the porch swing.

The screen door opens and closes and he’s about to tell whoever it is to leave him alone but he knows instantly its Stiles and it’s not like his best friend will listen _anyways_. So he sits in silence as the boy settles next to him.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Scott says and Stiles scoffs.

“Well, buddy; you’re best friends with the wrong person if you want to pull the passive aggressive card.” Stiles bumps his shoulder with his own. “Sorry to say, you’ve got no choice.”

0o0o0o0

Isaac feels bad about the amount of blood that’s coating the living room.

It’s like everywhere he turns there’s a stain on the carpet or coffee table or couch. His father hated stains, always wanted things spotless and pristine. He’d scrub at carpets or tiled floors to remove alcohol stains or spilled coffee until his fingers bled. And then his father would create another mess for him to start all over again.

He knows it’s not exactly his fault for…bleeding all over the place but he feels like he should probably try and clean up after himself. And then he realizes Allison’s still in the kitchen and he regrets walking through the threshold the moment she looks up at him. He distracts himself by tugging at the clean t-shirt he had slipped on after Scott had left and refuses to meet her eyes.

But she’s persistent. “So you and Scott.”

No, he’s definitely _not_ having this conversation. He looks under the kitchen sink for stain remover and takes the bottle, shoving it under his arm before grabbing the paper towels.

“I have to clean up.” Is all he says before turning on his heel out of there.

And of course she follows him. “I’ll help you.”

0o0o0o

Sometimes Scott hates how determined Stiles is; it’s usually an admirable trait but when he doesn’t want to talk about something it almost becomes irritating enough to punch him in the face for.

“So you had a fight, it’s not the end of the world.”

Scott shakes his head. “It’s more complicated than that, Stiles.”

“Since when is anything with you simple?” He snorts and nearly swallows his tongue when Scott glares at him. He clears his throat. “What did you two fight about?”

His eyes wander out to the lake, thinking about their argument earlier before the arrows. Everything had just been stacking up—not telling everyone about them (which is now irrelevant), the comments he’d heard between him and Allison, the fact that Isaac had too much trust while Scott didn’t have enough, and now what happened to Isaac on top of all of their problems.

It’s just about… “Everything,” Scott admits, a dry laugh following. “A lot of stuff that’s been building up for a while now.” He shakes his head, looking down at his hands. “It doesn’t really matter anyways, we broke up.”

“Don’t you sort of have to…acknowledge that you’re even together before you can break up?” Stiles asks and Scott gives him a long and hard look that can give Derek’s glares a run for their money. “Or not, okay, that’s not the point.”

0o0o0o0o

Isaac sighs as he leans up from scrubbing, tilting his head at the stain that’s seemed to have changed shape…which means the stain remover is working or he’s just shifted his blood onto other fibers in the carpet. Allison is hovering too close for his liking, she’s trying to help but he neither wants nor needs it. She’s trying to lift the stain of his blood from the fabric of the couch, biting her lip in concentration as she leans into her administrations.

“You and Scott.” She’s been trying to engage him into this conversation for the past ten minutes and Isaac’s patience is starting to wear thin. He leans back on his legs and looks up at her but says nothing. She turns her head to give him her attention. “I didn’t realize something was going on but part of me thinks I should have.”

Isaac’s eyebrows draw together and he can’t help but ask, “Why?”

She smiles softly but it’s sad. He realizes that she’s finally just letting go, admitting defeat. “Scott looks at you sometimes like…like he’d do anything for you.” She bites her lower lip and looks away from Isaac. “He used to look at me like that.”

He feels something break in his chest at the admission but he doesn’t know what it is or whether or not he’ll ever need it again. It falls and disappears, evaporates. He almost hates that Allison is telling him this _now_ , when it doesn’t even matter anymore.

Because the thing Scott and he had is over and done with, they’ve broken up or better yet, they’ve been _torn apart_ and her words mean little now. Scott’s made up his mind and that’s all there is to it.

“Doesn’t matter.” He replies gruffly, choosing to focus on the cleaner burning the pads of his fingertips instead of Allison’s wide eyes.

Her breath catches in her throat and he hates that it’s the _second_ time today that he’s had to sense realization swirling off of her body.

“I didn’t realize you gave up so easily, Lahey.”

His eyes snap to hers as his mouth hangs open; Allison merely shakes her head before sighing as she taps her fingers against her thigh.

0o0o0o0o0

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Stiles scoffs. “If you can’t handle the look _I’m_ giving you I can’t imagine how you handled the broken hearted puppy dog look Isaac must have given you when you kicked him to the curb.”

Scott winces. “That’s not what happened. I’m trying to protect him.”

“Trust me; I _know_ what you’re doing. If I know anything about you at this point in our long and arduous, while completely satisfying, friendship is how self sacrificing you are.” Stiles starts, tilting his head a little to try and catch Scott’s gaze. “…but trying to push Isaac away isn’t going to save him…or anyone else, for that matter.”

Scott’s fingers dig into his thighs. “I was completely _useless_ when he got hurt…” And it’s like he can hear the wheels turning in Stiles’ head—Scott McCall blaming himself yet again for something that’s out of his control and not his fault but he can’t help it.

“And what if something like that happens again?” He asks, turning a little on the porch swing and making it creak. “What if next time the alpha pack uses him to get to me?”

Stiles shakes his head slowly, like he’s about to explain something to a small child. The sympathy barreling into him from his body is enough to make Scott cringe. “But…you can easily say that about any of us, Scott. About Lydia, Allison…me. Even your mom.”

Scott swallows, his grip loosening on his legs. He thinks for a moment about what his friend has said and hates to admit that he’s sort of right. But it’s too late now, isn’t it? What’s been said to Isaac can’t easily be taken back like he’s never opened his mouth in the first place. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, letting out a long and tired breath.

“Don’t lose Isaac because you’re scared.” Stiles mutters, sarcasm and light gone from the tone of his voice.

He doesn’t linger on the fact that Stiles sounds like he’s speaking from experience.

0o00o0o

“I don’t give up easily.” He glares at her but it sounds like a lie even to his own ears.

It’s not like she’s completely off base or anything but he’s not about to force Scott into something he doesn’t seem to want with all his priorities taking the driver’s seat. He hadn’t been trying to force Scott into changing what he thought was important…all he was asking was for him to consider their… _relationship_ or whatever it was to be just as significant. Maybe giving up easily is something Allison should be discussing with her _ex._

She turns on the couch and swings her legs over the edge, Isaac still pretending his hardest that she doesn’t have some sort of insider information that he needs. “Scott is…stubborn.”

He snorts; honestly like _that’s_ something he hasn’t been able to piece together on his own.

Allison sighs and decides to rephrase. “I mean, in a selfless sort of way. It’s very honorable that he wants to protect the people that he loves,” He swallows and digs his upper teeth into his lower lip, glancing at the girl beside him. She smiles softly, tilting her head at him.  “But as you and I both know it’s very unrealistic.”

Was she…actually trying to give him advice? On her ex? His eyebrows crinkle as he licks his lips, trying to put his thoughts into words without sounding ungrateful. “Why are you…trying to help me?” He asks, looking up at her, eyes wide and sky blue.

Allison looks down at her fingers before shrugging her one shoulder; her voice is soft and timid. He’s never heard it like that before; even when she’s sad she’s got this toned streak to her voice, this pure _strength_ that he’s certain Scott knows and has fallen in love with once. But it’s gone from her voice this time, absent, disappeared, dissipated. She just…sounds like a normal girl, most likely heartbroken, filled with her own regrets.

He almost understands.

“When Scott and I broke up he said he’d wait for me even though I told him not to.” She smiles softly and looks over at Isaac. “But when he said that…I don’t think he ever expected to move on, you know? To be happy with someone else? I _want_ him to be happy.” She swallows. “He’s happy with you.”

She reaches out and ruffles his curls and Isaac swallows the urge to tell her to stop looking at him like he’s some sort of puppy…because the action almost warms his heart. Almost. He refuses to turn this into a moment…even though it sort of is one without his permission.

That strength is back in her voice, reinforcing her words and letting him know that she means what she says. She’s instructing him. “You can’t let him pull away.”

Isaac’s lost a lot of things in his life. Some things he’s lost on accident, like his mother and brother, his father, his ability to trust people and his dignity; some things on purpose, like the person he used to be before he was bit, Derek as his alpha and his anger towards his father.

Some things that are lost he misses deeply and it’s like a hole inside of him that will never be completely closed or healed. And the last thing he wants is for Scott to be added to the bottom of that list.

The last thing he wants is to lose him.

0o0o0o0o0

They all gather in the living room once Scott and Stiles come back in from the porch. Lydia joins them from upstairs, nodding her head that all the windows are locked and Isaac and Allison settle down on the loveseat since the couch is damp with cleaner and light pink stains. They manage to remove most of the red but it’s still there, reminding them that while it’s been quiet around the cabin for a half n hour that there is still someone out there who shot these arrows in the first place.

Isaac does his best not to watch Scott as he moves past him and sits in another chair, Stiles taking the arm of the couch and Lydia hovering nearby. The talk with Allison was, as much as he doesn’t like to admit it, helpful but…he still doesn’t have the slightest clue what to do about it. Scott is the one walking away from him; he knows that a relationship won’t be the easiest thing to maintain. A constant struggle between what Scott deserves and what he thinks his priorities are.

“We need to talk about what we’re going to do.” Stiles says, interrupting everyone’s thoughts.

Scott clears his throat. “We were out on the porch for a while and nothing happened. Maybe…” He trails off quietly and the look on everyone’s face isn’t as hopeful as he sounds.

“If whoever shot Isaac is in fact a hunter,” Allison speaks up. “Then they know that run of the mill arrows aren’t going to be enough to kill him.”

“That’s comforting.” Isaac mutters, earning a grim smirk from Stiles.

She shifts back into the loveseat, her shoulder brushing his. “That was just a warning, sort of like…”

“A singing telegram to let us know they’re here.” Stiles relates wryly. “How thoughtful.”

“I hate to point out the obvious, but it’s not like there’s a lot of suspects around to choose from. We’ve only met two other people who are living out here for the time being and who know Isaac.” Lydia crosses her arms over his chest and Stiles snaps his fingers in her direction.

“Lydia’s right, Charlie and Ally…” He looks over at Scott. “It has to be.”

Isaac refuses to mention that that’s what he’s been thinking about since the first time he met them. He rubs the back of his neck and is about to say something but Scott steps in, taking the pressure off his shoulders.

“Are we sure?” He asks. “They just…don’t seem like the type.”

Allison sets her hands on her lap. “Hunters learn to adapt and blend in, it’s actually a really smart tactic that they managed to get close to us and take notes on Isaac without us even realizing it.”

Stiles shivers. “Creepy.”

Scott turns to Isaac, looking at him and he tries to ignore the significant electric current running down his spine when their eyes connect. “You said you felt like something was off with Ally.”

“Yeah but…I was wrong, she just had a crush on me.”

“Maybe it was more than that.” Allison offers, looking over at Scott before Isaac. “Maybe that’s what she wanted you to think.”

Isaac stands and runs his hands through his curls, frustrated. It’s ironic that before all this happened he would have given anything to have someone on his side about this, to actually think that all the weird noises and arrows and hints were actually _something_ , that he wasn’t just paranoid and making it all up. And perhaps he’s letting his one conversation with Ally cloud his judgment but…he likes her, he understands what she’s going through, he doesn’t want to think that she’s the one trying to kill him.

Stiles glances over at Scott before nodding his head. “I think it’s time we found out a little more about the Campbell family.”

O0o0o0o

Lydia had brought her laptop up to the cabin because apparently ‘you never know when you’re going to need to do some online shopping’ or, you know, investigate a family who was trying to kill one of your friends. Isaac tells everything to the group about the conversation he had with Ally at the lake, he figures it’s the least he can do while Stiles searches online (and logs into the police database with his father’s username and password) to find anything that can tell them what they don’t know about the Campbell family that might help. He’s not sure what Lydia and Stiles are looking for but he figures he should just let them do their thing and retreats to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.

He’s in the midst of stirring in sugar and cream when Scott wanders past the threshold. He tenses, his shoulders curling in on themselves as he sits at the island counter and tries to let the other wolf do what he needs to do and leave. But he feels him stand next to him and oh, apparently Scott hasn’t come in here to get away from Stiles flirting shamelessly with Lydia over the keyboard of her laptop or for a cup of coffee.

Isaac swallows and keeps stirring his coffee, slowly looking to his side. “There’s more in the pot…if you want it.” He says because he has no idea what else _to_ say.

Scott opens his mouth and then snaps it shut again. He pulls the other island chair aside so that he’s standing right next to Isaac’s legs. “Do you really think Ally did this?” That’s definitely not what he was going to say but Isaac doesn’t want to press. Doesn’t have the energy to.

“I don’t know.” He says honestly, looking down at his coffee cup. “I sort of hope not. You didn’t hear her when she was talking about her parents, there was so much… _pain_ in her voice.”

 He swallows, hating how much he understands the pain caused by parents; even though this isn’t the same as what he’s gone through. But Ally…she seems like such a sweet girl, someone who deserves to have a normal life. He blames Erica; naturally, if Ally didn’t remind him so much of her he’d probably be more indifferent to all of this. But he can’t help but acknowledge the common theme of joining Derek’s pack, the pure anger and fear and _pain_ that conjoins all three betas together even though Erica is gone. Erica was angry at her disease, Boyd was afraid of being alone and Isaac just…he had been so tired of feeling helpless against pain that any alternative seemed better. But the bite hadn’t saved them. The anger and fear and pain were still here…it just came in different forms.

“I’d just…hate to think that pain has turned her into…” He trails off.

“Someone who’s capable of hurting other people?”

Isaac sighs softly and closes his eyes because of _course_ Scott understands. He nods his head and squeezes the coffee cup in his hands until he hears the ceramic creak like it might crack between his fingers. Scott’s hands come up alongside his and his palms gently press into bones and knuckles, his grip loosening at the touch. He doesn’t realize his heart is pounding miles a minute until he hears it slow to a gentle thumping noise behind his ribcage. He swallows as Scott leans forward, rests his forehead against Isaac’s temple, his breath from his nose brushing against the top of his ear.

“I know what you’re thinking.” And of course he does. Sometimes he hates how perceptive Scott is, or rather, he just hates how he knows him so well without even trying. “You know, even if she did this,” Scott whispers, his one hand moving from the mug to gently run down Isaac’s back hunched over the counter. “She’s not a loss cause.”

He knows that Scott is probably thinking about Allison, about the path she went down with her grandfather when the pain from the loss of her mother caused her to blur the lines between right and wrong. Allison has done things, she’s hurt people she’s close to, physically and emotionally, but she came back from that. She’s not lost to her mistakes. To her pain.

Isaac lets out a long breath he doesn’t realize he’s holding until Scott uses the hand that was on his back to gently grasp his chin. He turns his face to look at him and he bites his lip hard, trying to avoid the other’s eyes. He hates that Scott knows how upset he is about this, he hates how much he relates to Ally and how Ally reminds him of Erica. He just…he _hates_ it.

Scott rests his forehead against Isaac’s, his hand moving to cup his jaw and run his thumb underneath his eye to catch nonexistent tears that haven’t fallen yet but that are easily welling up in his eyes. He sniffles softly as Scott presses a long kiss to his cheekbone before pulling back.

He opens his mouth to say something when Allison comes into the kitchen, a soft noise escaping her lips as she realizes she’s interrupted something.

“Oh, uhm…” She looks between the two of them as Isaac runs a hand over his face and Scott clears his throat, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Sorry but Stiles found something.”

Isaac stands and takes a long sip of his coffee; he can’t help but wonder what that was even about before Allison interrupted since he thought they had broken up. Or separated or whatever it’s called when you’re sort of together and then part ways. He knew staying in a gray area was a bad idea.

But he supposes on top of everything else that what’s going on between him and Scott is the last thing he should be worrying about.

O0o0o0o0

“I thought you said Ally’s parents died in a car crash.” Stiles starts when they’ve all gathered in the living room again.

Scott is sitting a lot closer to him than he was before and…that’s really not something he should be focusing on right now. He frowns, his eyebrows crinkling together as he looks between the open laptop, the bright blue screen reflecting on Lydia’s face as she sits on the floor near the coffee table and Stiles’ patient expression as he holds notes in his hands.

“She did.”

Stiles shifts on his feet before sitting on the arm on the couch again. “She must have been lying about it.”

Isaac shakes his head, ignoring Scott’s gaze weighing on his shoulders. “No, I listened to her heartbeat. There were no irregularities, no skips. Nothing.” He looks at the papers between Stiles’ fingers; where is he going with this?

“But you said her heart was beating faster than normal.” Allison points out.

“She was upset,” Isaac counters, stating the fact like it’s obvious. “I mean, she was talking about her parents dying. I’d be worried if her heartbeat wasn’t speeding while trying to tell someone about it.”

Scott nods his head, a silent weight of support in Isaac’s favor. “He’s got a point.”

“She wasn’t lying.” He repeats.

“Well they did find her parents in a car but…” Lydia trails off, looking up at Stiles.

“It was weird,” Stiles comments, then rolls his eyes because ‘weird’ is too often a term that they have to deal with anymore. “The coroner report said that the slashes all over Mr. and Mrs. Campbell’s bodies looked like…”

“Claw marks.” Lydia whispers, looking over at Scott and Isaac.

Stiles nods his head. “But the police ruled out an animal attack because their car was smashed into a tree and it just…it looked like a bad accident, glass was everywhere and could have easily caused the slashes but the coroner wasn’t convinced.”

Isaac’s face twists into a look of confusion. “I don’t understand…so what killed their parents? Ally wasn’t lying to me. She just…” He looks over at Scott and swallows. “She wasn’t.”

Scott nods his head gently. “We believe you.” But something told him that the other wolf was the only one who really thought that.

When he glances at Stiles again he can almost literally hear the wheels turn in his head, like he’s trying to put two and two together and keeps getting six until it dawns on him that it equals four. Isaac raises his eyebrows when Stiles snaps the papers he’s holding off of his wrist.

“Maybe she wasn’t lying…at least, not really. Not to Isaac, anyways.”

Lydia’s confusion speaks for all of them. “Come again?”

Stiles stands up, like that’ll make his words more convincing. “Think about it. She lost her parents in something…violent and unexplainable. Whether it was an animal attack or a car crash both are sudden, maybe she told herself a lie to cope.”

Isaac looks down at his hands resting on his lap, recalling the anger in Ally’s voice when she told him about the driver who hit her parents. That could easily be transferred from an unexplained animal attack. Both were sudden and violent. But if it was an animal attack, or better yet—a werewolf attack (everyone was thinking it, he could tell by the look on everyone’s faces and how they kept glancing at Scott and him), why were her parents bodies put back into their car to look like a car crash?

“How many times do you tell yourself a lie before you start to believe it?”

Scott is closer to him now; he can feel the heat of his body before his shoulder is pressed comfortingly into his own. How many times did he tell himself that his father didn’t mean to get so angry with him? That he didn’t mean to hit so hard or drag him down the steps or lock him in a freezer for hours on end? How many times did he tell himself those things until he believed they were true? Until he started defending his father to other people and covering for him. That his bruises were because he was clumsy or his broken bones were from lacrosse.

“Maybe what she told Isaac is something she honestly _wants_ to believe.”

“So what, werewolves killed her parents and now she’s taking it out on any werewolf she meets?” Allison asks, looking unconvinced.

“Your grandfather did a lot more for a lot less.” Scott mutters, his arm moving to settle behind Isaac’s back. “It’s not exactly a far stretch.”

“How would Ally even know that Isaac is a werewolf?” Lydia closes her laptop.

Isaac closes his eyes as Stiles snaps his fingers. “The wolfsbane, it _has_ to be. That shit made you sick as a dog, no pun intended, right in front of them. It must have been in the air or maybe even on them when you and Allison ran into them in the woods.”

“What about Charlie?” Scott’s voice vibrates against his ribs and Isaac rubs his forehead, not wanting to step in on any part of this conversation. “Do you think he knows what his sister is doing?”

It makes sense, no matter how much he wants to deny it. For some reason he can’t stop that… _sympathizing_ sensation from crawling up from the pit of his stomach. In a way he understands why Ally would be doing this, would be seeking revenge. He remembers the rage in her voice when she spoke about the driver that hit her parents, what she would do if she only knew who was to blame. That type of rage that builds and bottles and disintegrates.

Isaac is finally about to add his own commentary to this whole thing when the lights extinguish like someone’s blown them out like candles.

And the room is plunged into darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Also, as a side note, I have no idea if there's a main police data base for every area but omg every time I watch Supernatural I feel like there is one or should be so, shh let's put on our pretend caps ty.


	11. change

For a long moment Isaac is completely overwhelmed by the palpable scent of fear and three pounding heartbeats slamming into his eardrums. But Scott’s heartbeat is as calm as his voice as he instructs everyone not to move. He’s listening, Isaac figures, for movement outside of the cabin. They can’t stay where they are, the living room is surrounded my large windows that look out at the lake and the woods, its vulnerable here, it’s easy to aim and target them the longer they sit unmoving.

He knows Scott is trying to concentrate but he’s starting to feel antsy, while the wolves in the room can take a few arrows sans wolfsbane, the three humans can’t. “Scott.” He waits but he says nothing. “Scott, we need to move. We’re sitting ducks in here.” He whispers.

He can see the contemplation on Scott’s face, his eyes easily adjusting in the dark. He stands and motions for him to follow, grabbing onto Allison’s wrist and pulling her to where Stiles and Lydia are. There’s a faint glow in the room from the moon outside but it’s not much help, Stiles trips over the leg of the coffee table and Scott’s arm shoots out to balance him.

“Have I mentioned how uncoordinated I am when the lights are _on_? Ally won’t have a chance to shoot an arrow into me; I’m going to die from tripping over a coffee table.”

“Shh!” Isaac snaps, his ears picking up on movement at the back and front door. “Scott.”

“I hear it,” He confirms. “There’s only two of them but…if we don’t have any weapons—”

Isaac understands where Scott is going with this. Two werewolves up against mediocre, at best, hunters is one thing. They can probably take them, wolfsbane dipped arrows or not. But they have three other people to worry about and while Isaac might be the target he doesn’t want to think about any one of them becoming collateral damage.

“I brought my portable crossbow.” Allison interrupts, shrugging her one shoulder. “It fit in my bag and I mean you never know when you might need it...” She trails off, like she honestly doesn’t have to explain herself.

She moves to go towards the stairs but Isaac’s grip is firm on her arm. “We’re not splitting up.”

“Well we can’t stay here.” Stiles squeaks as the back door is forced open with a firm kick.

They all make a run for the steps as a solid gunshot from a shotgun echoes throughout the living room. Isaac can tell by not turning around and listening to the weight of the footsteps that it’s Charlie and by the time Allison and Lydia make it halfway up the stairs the front door swings open to reveal Ally with a similar looking rifle.

It’s probably the same one she almost shot at him in the woods that day but he barely has time to dwell because she’s aiming and _firing_. Lydia screams as the blast hits the top of the banister, shattering the wood and Scott and Isaac rush to hurry everyone up the stairs before more rounds can go off. Stiles trips on the last step and he hurries to pick him up under his shoulders from behind as another gunshot zips through the air, this time hitting the ceiling and making his ears ring. He’s not sure if the shots are off because Ally and Charlie are novice hunters or because they’re trying to scare them.

The agreement to stick together is silently broken as everyone reaches the landing to the second floor and splits to head in different directions to hide. Isaac doesn’t know where everyone goes but he can guess that Stiles is protecting Lydia and Allison has sprinted to go to her room to get her crossbow. Isaac is about to turn around and face Charlie and Ally head on but Scott grabs his arm, hard enough to pull his shoulder from his socket, and ducks into a storage closet near their room.

The door quietly closes and the shorter presses him against the wood, his body easily crowding Isaac’s regardless of the height he has on him. “What are you doing? Let me go.”

“No,” Scott snaps in a hushed whisper. “What’s wrong with you? You think they’re against putting wolfsbane in their bullets?”

“They just want me,” He argues, his tone just as quiet. “They were willing to shoot at our very _human_ friends, they don’t care who they have to go through to get their werewolf.”

“ _No_.” Scott hisses and Isaac shivers at the command in his voice, his body instantly wanting to buckle at the alpha’s order. “I’m not letting you go out there on a suicide mission. Forget it.”

Isaac’s about say that he doesn’t have a choice in his decision but Scott’s hand slams over his mouth so fast that he can almost taste the saltiness of his skin as his palm meshes with his lips. He hears it now, the two heartbeats and gentle footsteps as they ascend the stairs. He breathes out, slow and even, trying to listen to see where they’re going and what they’re trying to do. He just hopes everyone else is safe…he’s not sure how he’s going to be able to handle if someone gets hurt because Charlie and Ally are looking for him. And _only_ him. Why is it that Scott’s allowed to be self sacrificing but the moment someone else wants to he demands that they don’t? He understands the other wolf is only trying to protect him but…what else can they _do_?

“Isaac!” Ally yells, her voice shattering in his ears like glass. “Look, if you come out now we won’t have to hurt your friends.”

Isaac gives Scott a pointed look but the other shakes his head, leaning closer (like that’s even possible at this point) and whispers in his ear. “Our _human_ friends can take care of themselves, they’ve been through worse.” He points out and wow, now is really not the time for him to be thinking about how close his body is to Scott’s and how they are practically pressed together _everywhere_.

They’re walking slowly down the hall, they haven’t quite made it to where he and Scott are but they’re close enough to make out their words without his heightened hearing.

“Are you sure this is what we have to do?” Ally asks and her voice sounds weaker than when she called Isaac out; unsure.

He tries his hardest to focus on what they’re saying because he’s noticed that the room they’re in, while tiny, has become noticeably _smaller_ to him in the past three minutes. And while it’s not the best time for him to be thinking with his dick it’s also not a prime time for his claustrophobia to sink in either.

“Not going soft on me are you?” Charlie asks and he stops walking.

Isaac squirms in his grasp and Scott seems to understand that he’s not trying to get away anymore to do something stupid but because he’s feeling cramped. His hand falls from his mouth and he backs up as much as he can, which is only one step back. Isaac can still feel the heat from his body and between that and the dark it’s damn near suffocating. He tries to concentrate on the steady breathing of the boy in front of him but his heartbeat is skyrocketing and the air is leaving his lungs faster than he can take it in and he’s starting to _panic_.

“You’re okay.” Scott says, his voice loud enough that only Isaac can pick it up with his heightened hearing.

He shakes his head because no, no he’s definitely _not_ okay. He’s getting flashbacks to being stuck in the closet with Allison at school and the way he felt in the jeep on their way up to the cabin. The way he felt locked in that freezer, his limbs aching with trying to free himself to _breathe_. His chest hurts, his lungs ache and he feebly runs his hands through his hair as he tries to control himself from wolfing out.

“I just mean,” Ally sighs, his hearing is so sharpened that he can pick up on the way she sucks on her lower lip a moment as she thinks. “I don’t think terrorizing them is necessary.”

Charlie goes from calm to really fucking angry in three seconds flat, Isaac sort of understands that turn around, seeing as how he went from okay to freaking out in same short amount of time.

“ _Necessary_?” He hisses and he can hear Ally’s back bump into a wall as Charlie corners her. “Was it necessary that those _things_ put our parents back into their car after they were finished chewing on them like toys?”

Isaac’s eyes snap to Scott’s and even in the dark the caramel color bleeds with comprehension. His eyes flash yellow as his breathing becomes more audible, a distinct panting as he tries take in as much air as he can even though it feels like someone is kneeling on his windpipe. Scott shakes his head and moves closer, crowding his space again, touching his arms gently to prevent him from slashing out at him as his claws grow.

He needs to calm down because if someone walks past the closet door they’re going to easily hear him.

“Listen to me,” Scott says into his ear, picking up his hand to press against his chest. “Shh, Isaac. You’re okay, close your eyes and focus on my breathing.”

Isaac nods his head and does what he’s told, trying to commit Scott’s even breathing to his memory. He copies it, lets a slow breath in and out. It takes a few times but he finally gets the hang of it, his body slumping against Scott’s slightly from effort. The other wraps his arms around him, rubbing his back as Isaac’s face finds solace in the crook of his neck. He feels better, calmer, but he still needs to get out of there.

“Where’s your _anger_ at, Ally?” Charlie spits and his weight is lifted off of her body, Isaac can smell her relief but there’s still an overpowering amount of fear that makes the hair on his arms stand on end. “Don’t you care about what happened to mom and dad?”

He lifts his head from Scott’s neck, the other boy calmly massaging his sides absentmindedly as they continue to listen, the actions of his hands helping to calm his nerves.

Isaac swallows thickly as he listens to Ally’s breathing, it’s labored and heavy like his was moments before. That pain is evident in her voice again and it feels like a hot poker sliding right into his chest cavity.

“I do care!” She exclaims, it’s obvious that she sounds insulted about what her brother is insinuating.

“Then prove it.” He cocks his gun. “Stop acting like this is the first time you’ve killed a werewolf.”

Isaac swallows, shaking his head as he finds Scott’s eyes in the dark. They’ve done this before, though he guesses that it’s rather obvious now that he thinks about it since they know enough about wolfsbane to probably soak some of their arrows or load their bullets with it. The twin footsteps disappear down the hall but Isaac listens through the door for a few long moments after to make sure they’re gone.

“So they’re going after any werewolves they can get.” Scott mutters.

Isaac nods softly and looks down. “I don’t think they ever caught the werewolf who killed their parents,” He remembers Ally’s anger when talking about the ‘driver’ and realizes she was actually talking about a wolf. Same story, same loss, different characters. “They’re just filling the void.”

“They’re killing innocent werewolves and they don’t care who they have to hurt to do it.” Scott corrects, running his hand through his hair.

Isaac knows he’s right, of course, but he doesn’t know what they’re supposed to do about them. “We can’t…” He leans back against the door. “I mean, we’re not going to kill them right?”

The other shakes his head no; if anyone’s willing to come up with an alternative plan its Scott. “Doing this can’t be something their parents would have wanted…and it’s not going to make anything better or bring them back.”

He licks his lips, slowly turning the knob of the closet door. “And if talking to them doesn’t work?”

The silence from Scott is deafening and it ironically answers his question even though he’d give anything for a different response. One doesn’t come however; he just nods his head towards the door and says, “Let’s find the others.”

0o0o0o0o0

They’re out of the storage room for ten seconds before he hears a guttural scream and the sharp hint of blood fills his nostrils. He doesn’t recognize the scent so that luckily means it’s not anyone he knows but the smell still turns his stomach. He runs down the winding hallway with Scott in the direction of the noise and Allison rams into them as she stumbles out of her room.

“Run!” She squeaks, tugging on both of their arms as Ally appears in the doorway, her gun raised.

Isaac manages to connect eyes with her in the briefest of seconds, and even there, stuck in those moments of time she looks different to him. The light of the moon and stars coming in from the windows warp her face, gives her shadows across the pretty smile lines and the bright green eyes that he saw down at the lake. She looks lost and scared, her fingers are shaking as she pulls the trigger and—

“ _Isaac_.” Scott yells, yanking him out of the blast’s way and the pellets hit the wall where his head had just been moments before. His mouth falls open as he’s dragged down the hall, Ally running and shooting on their heels.

Scott tells Allison to run to her right, into the bedroom and Isaac takes a strong breath into his chest, picking up hints of Lydia’s perfume and Stiles’ fear. They barrel into the room and slam the door closed, ducking when a buckshot shatters the wood near the doorknob.

“Put something in front of it!” Allison shouts, Stiles and Lydia coming out of the conjoined bathroom at the sound of their friends.

Scott and Isaac quickly move the dresser in front of the door, waiting a moment and backing away slowly, trying to listen through the layers of wood as to what Ally is doing. She stands there for a long time, breathing heavily, her heart pounding wildly minute by minute until she moves back down the hall.

Scott turns to look at the group, running his hand over his face. “Everyone okay?”

Stiles lets out a large breath, putting his hands on his knees and bending at his waist a little. “Thank God you guys are here…you know Lydia was getting antsy in there, it was embarrassing.”

Lydia crosses her arms over her chest and scoffs. “If by me getting antsy you mean _you_ panicking and stepping on and _scuffing_ my designer boots countless times then yes.”

“I smelled blood back there,” Isaac looks at Allison. “Did you shoot someone?”

She nods and smiles softly, obviously proud of her aim. Her crossbow is still hanging loosely in her fingers and she taps it against his leg. “Charlie opened the closet where I was hiding and was greeted with an arrow. I’m not sure where I got him, I think I managed to knick his shoulder, but it was enough to make him scream and drop his gun.”

“Ally probably went back to help him, if he’s hurt bad enough she’ll need to get him out of here and bandage him up.” Lydia offers, like that’ll give them time to come up with something.

“We need to get out of here.” Allison mutters, looking towards the dresser that’s in front of the door.

Isaac pulls away from the group to look out the window near the bed as Stiles replies, “The front door is on the other side of the house, not to mention the jeep.”

“We’re not leaving.” Scott says and Stiles’ eyes nearly pop out of his goddamn head.

“What do you _mean_ we’re not leaving?” The exasperation is very clear in his voice. “There are two people, with guns by the way, who are hunting your boyfriend…oh, and not to mention, shooting whatever is in their path!” Stiles’ voice gets louder on every word and by the time he’s finished he’s nearly yelling towards his best friend.

Scott’s heartbeat stays calm and steady, he has no idea how he gathers up the patience, something Isaac seriously admires him for. “We can’t just leave without trying to talk to them first. Isaac and I overheard them talking, this isn’t the first time they’ve done something like this.”

“I am _not_ sticking around for some twisted remake of _Cabin in the Woods_ , McCall.”

He sighs, watching the banter before he steps closer and waves an arm through the tension mounting between the two of them. “Scott’s right okay? If we leave it doesn’t mean that they’re not going to go after other innocent werewolves. We don’t have time for this right now, we have to go.”

“And how do you suppose we do that curly wolf? You gonna walk right out the front door?” Stiles asks, crossing his arms over his chest and shooting him an indignant look.

He glares at him. “Window, asshat.” He grabs his shirt around the back of his shoulders and lifts; it almost looks like a twisted version of a cat picking up a kitten by its neck with its mouth. “And don’t call me that.”

Stiles squirms in his grasp and tries to swat at Isaac but it’s to no avail. He finally drops him when they get to the window and he fixes his shirt with an off-putting expression. “Living with Derek has done a serious number to your manners.”

Scott, Lydia and Allison approach the window as he opens it, sticking his head out to listen and make sure Ally or Charlie are no where around. No breathing, no heartbeats other than the four people behind him. They should be safe to make it down the side of the house.

“Where can we go Stiles?”

“You mean other than to the jeep and the hell _out_ of here?” He snaps and Isaac sees a flitter of frustration cross Scott’s eyes. He groans and runs a hand over his face before glancing out the window at the lake. “There’s a boat house between those trees,” He points. “There. It’s not a fortress or anything but it’s kind of hard to find unless you know it’s there.”

Isaac nods, volunteering to go first and wraps his long fingers along the windowsill as he looks down at the grass below him. He and Scott can make that jump but he’s not sure how the others are going to make it there without seriously breaking some bones. There’s a small landing to his left, just the right size for someone to stand on it and then lower themselves to the ground. Scott and Isaac will probably still have to help but at least no one has to jump.

He makes his way out first, jumping to his feet on the ground below. His reflexes are sharpened so his muscles and bones can easily take in the fall. The drop is short is but it never fails to course a jolt of excitement up his spine; the wind ruffling his curls as his fingers flex, shins preparing for impact before his toes dig into the dirt and grass.

He turns and motions for someone to head out next, watching as Lydia carefully moves her way out of the window and to the landing. She tries to sit before turning to lower herself down to the ground but she slips, her boot heel caught in her laces and a squeak leaves her lips as she falls. Isaac is quick to catch her, giving her a small squeeze as her heart pounds loudly in her chest. He sets her down, Allison making her way out next. She stands on the landing and actually does a front flip forward onto the grass beside them, her grounding balanced and poised. Lydia crosses her arms over her chest and mutters ‘show off’ as Stiles clumsily makes his way out of the window and jumps down to where they are…to only lose his footing and fall head over tin cups onto his ass.

Allison and Lydia are quick to help Stiles up as Scott jumps and joins them, moving quickly through the back woods towards the lake. Isaac doesn’t notice it at first, Stiles is right; the boat house is a medium structure with dark paneled wood tucked between a surrounding of trees. With normal eyesight combined with the night sky it’d be very hard to pick out. The upkeep of the boat house doesn’t compare to that of the cabin and as they get closer the sting of moss, mud, and rotting wood slams into his nostrils. He rubs his nose with the back of his wrist and glances over at Scott, who is also overwhelmed with the onslaught of scents, his nose scrunched at its bridge.

There’s a padlock on the set of double doors and Stiles digs a set of keys out of his pocket, unlocking it and letting them all inside before quietly shutting things back up again.

The inside is just as unimpressive as the outside but it’ll do for the short amount of time they need to figure out a decent plan. Stiles lets out a long breath of relief (well, not exactly relief, more like he’s just glad no one is shooting at them anymore) before sliding down the doors to sit against them, Lydia making a face about the state of the floor before doing the same.

Isaac slowly walks along the right side of the room, his fingers trailing along random boat parts that are rusted over and caked with dust. He licks his lips as he hesitates at a work station, a picture frame hanging above the desk. It’s clear that Mr. Stilinski hasn’t been in here for quite some time, he doesn’t even remember seeing a boat near the dock or boat house. There’s a few boxes scattered around them, broken chairs, tools, odds and ends that tell him this place has become a storage room and not much else.

He reaches up and runs his thumb down the center of the picture, removing a layer of dirt and grime. He tilts his head, lets his eyes adjust to the small amount of light present through the windows and smiles softly at Mr. Stilinski holding a four, maybe five year old Stiles in his arms. He’s bending forward and holding him upside down and Isaac thinks that Stiles was probably making some sort of monkey noises at the time, making whoever took the picture laugh. Most likely his mother. He looks over to Scott who comes up beside him, taking the picture down off the wall and blowing the dust off of it.

“They look so happy.” Scott mutters, smiling gently at the photo like it might snap between his fingers.

It’s not that Stiles and his dad aren’t happy now but he understands what he means; that they were probably at one of their happiest moments when this photo was taken, when Stiles’ mom was still alive to see the smiles on her husband and son’s faces. Family is just one of those things Isaac thinks people take for granted; that foundation and security, that love and warmth, things you depend on to just be there as long as you are. But Isaac knows better than anyone that things can change, in ways you never expect them to. Mothers can die and fathers can leave or become monsters. Ally and Charlie’s family, all four of them, were probably as happy as the photo of Stiles and his father at one point.

Change is a scary thing because it happens all too suddenly and usually when least expected.

Isaac sighs, watching Scott put the picture back where he found it, turning to lean against the desk and making the whole damn structure creak. It’s not even like he weighs that much, his tall frame lanky and he’s all long limbs, but the noises make him think otherwise and he makes a face before standing back up. Scott smirks and tilts his head to where there’s another space for them to sit on the other side of the boat house, the two of them sliding down the wall as Allison stands next to Lydia and looks out the window cautiously.

He can tell Scott wants to talk to him from the moment he settles into his seat, his knees slightly bent towards his chest. The other’s heart skips in an upbeat _thumpthumpthump_ as his shoulder presses into Isaac’s. He knows an ‘I’m sorry’ is about to leave the other’s lips, because that’s just how Scott is. The guilt is always plain on his face like the words he wants to say are printed and typed onto his skin. He’s not sure if he wants an apology, however, because while that might make the other feel better he doesn’t want to deal with the fact that he’s probably sorry for how he put that he didn’t want to be with him anymore but he still _meant_ what he said.

“Stiles called you my boyfriend back there.”

He blinks, turning his head to look at him. He had been aware of the slip of tongue but he wasn’t so sure that Scott had caught it. Apparently he had. He clears his throat and shrugs his shoulder.

“Yeah, you know Stiles, always saying everything a million miles an hour. Probably didn’t mean it.” He tries to put the other at ease that it doesn’t mean anything, because the last time Stiles muttered that they were boyfriends they had a long talk outside of a convenience store about Scott’s priorities.

And that’s not something he really wants to talk about again.

“Right,” Scott says softly, moving to rub the back of his neck. “Well, what if I wanted him to mean it.”

Something like a hot poker surges through his chest and dips lower into his stomach, lighting his bones and muscles on fire. It feels a lot like hope and he doesn’t want to acknowledge it unless he has to. Isaac and hope don’t get along well, they’re not friends and the feeling barely sticks around for him to get used to it.

“Scott…” He trails off because no, he doesn’t have to _do_ this but Scott cuts him off.

“I’m sorry,” He blurts out, making Isaac’s mouth snap shut. “I’m sorry about what I said before in the living room.”

Isaac sighs and shakes his head, closing his eyes for a moment. “You don’t have to feel bad about bruising my ego.” Or his heart, he really means his heart but the organ thinks it’s best to not even mention it.

“I don’t, I mean…I _do,”_ He corrects when Isaac gives him a skeptical look because he can _smell_ it on him. “But that’s not what I was talking about.”

He smiles slowly, the expression odd on his face. “Then what are you talking about?”

Scott blushes, the tiniest bit of pink staining his cheekbones. It’s honestly insulting because of how distractingly pretty it is and he swallows the urge to cup his face and run his thumb over it.

“You were right, putting distance between the two of us doesn’t mean you won’t get hurt and it doesn’t mean that I can prevent it from happening, either.” His eyes rake over Isaac’s face, like he’s trying to commit it to memory. The sort of scrutiny would make him uncomfortable if it weren’t for Scott’s soft brown eyes and the warmth they emulate.

There’s a beat of silence between them before he continues, his fingers tapping along with his heartbeat against his folded knees. “I’m just. I’m sorry and I’m not going anywhere,” The words are familiar, they bleed into his skin, the same as when he heard them in Deaton’s office but somehow different now. Weighted with more implications, more meaning. “At least not without someone who can make a decent cup of coffee.”

Isaac smirks, can’t help it, his stomach getting this warm sensation that goes down all the way to his feet and ricochets into his chest at the same time. “I think I saw a Lifetime movie end like this once.” He teases, smiling slowly at Scott; apology accepted.

Scott grins even though the blush is hot enough on his cheeks to set something on fire. “Dude, shut up.”

“No wait, I think I can hear music swell—” There’s a broad smile plastered on his face when Scott cuts him off with a kiss, his lips buckling a moment later to reciprocate.

This kiss is slow and soft, it’s gentle and doesn’t hint that it’s supposed to be anything more than Scott meaning what he says and saying what he means. They only pull apart when Stiles clears his throat from across the room and mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like, ‘honestly, _now_ is the time you two choose to make up? Just added two more problems to the never ending list of people wanting to kill us but hey, no big deal…same shit, different day’ but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

Isaac rolls his eyes and licks his lips, turning to Scott to talk about what they plan on doing about Charlie and Ally. “I think I can get through to Ally, if we can separate her from her brother, I think I can convince her to do the right thing.”

“Are you sure?” Scott asks, he doesn’t sound entirely won over by the idea.

He guesses he doesn’t exactly blame him, both of them have proven to be dangerous and it seems like they’re not past hurting who they need to or who gets in their way so they can pursue unfinished business. But Isaac’s not so sure that Ally wants to be any part of this, the look on her face and her shaking hands when she aimed her gun at him, her uncertain opinions in the hallway before her brother snapped at her, the conversation she had with him by the lake. He feels like he can tap into that part of her again, the part that reminds him of Erica, the ache and not necessarily the anger from loss that he relates to.

“Yeah,” He nods slowly. “Yeah, I can do it.” Isaac glances over at Lydia, Allison and Stiles by the door across the room, Stiles nose deep into his phone as he looks something up, the glow from the screen covering the three of them in a faint blue light. “What about them?” He asks, lowering his voice. “We can’t take them with us.”

“You think you’re going to be able to convince them to stay put?”

“I’m not giving them a choice,” Isaac states firmly. “While I’m glad all of them are willing to have my back when need be, most of them willing to _without_ stabbing me while they’re at it,” He mentions pointedly; Scott not needing the reference for Allison, “I don’t want the distraction. And I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

He smiles softly, running his fingers through Isaac’s curls. “ _Someone_ is starting to sound a little bit like me.” Isaac smirks and just shakes his head; playfully swatting his hand away as Stiles approaches them both.

“Look what I found.”

Isaac squints at his phone screen, trying to figure out what he’s exactly looking at. The print is small but he can tell it’s some sort of electronic newspaper clipping, there’s a picture of a cabin that almost looks like it could be a cookie cut of the Stilinski one but its smaller framed and not near the lake. There’s a woman standing amidst different flowers, vegetables and a small boy is holding onto her right leg with a wild smile on his face as she holds up what looks like a fair ribbon of some kind.

The caption under the picture reads: Mrs. Elissa Campbell holds up a third place ribbon for ‘Most Diverse Selection of Plant Cultivation’ as part of the 2006 California State fair.

“What exactly are we looking at?” Scott asks, just as confused as Isaac feels.

Stiles double taps on the screen, making it zoom in on the picture. He moves the frame to the right until a rooted plant is centered and Isaac tilts his head at it because…it looks familiar.

“That looks like…”

“It’s Aconitum anthora.” Stiles states, obviously proud he’s identified and pronounced the words correctly.Lydia takes the wind out of his sails before he has a chance to explain to blank faces. “It’s the scientific name for Yellow Monkshood or—”

“Wolfsbane.” Scott mutters.

Stiles sighs. “Right, though ironically, this type of wolfsbane is also known as ‘Healing Wolfsbane’…which I don’t think Isaac would necessarily agree with.”

He smirks, gaining a murderous glare from the curly haired boy seated next to him. His smile fades and he clears his throat, continuing before he loses a limb…or his voicebox. He double clicks on the screen again so the picture unzooms on the Monkshood and Mrs. Campbell.

“Apparently Mama Soup was quite the gardenista. You receive a MDPC ribbon for diverse plant life. She managed to uproot and grow plants whose native species usually grow in European mountains.”

“Ally and Charlie must have a stash of it leftover from their mother.” Allison adds, sitting down next to Scott and setting her bow on her lap.

Isaac recalls that day in the woods with her and while he doesn’t remember any yellow plants, he wonders if Charlie or Ally had enough on their person for him to be affected like he was.

“Do you guys even have a plan?”

“We’re going to talk to them.” Isaac says, glancing around at the circle.

Everyone is quiet a moment until Stiles snorts. “Right, because _that_ always goes well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading <3


	12. Retribution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I've been super busy kljdflsdkfjsdklf enjoy!

 

It’s going to start raining soon; he can feel it in his bones, down to the porous stitch work interlacing his body together. There’s lightening flashing in the sky, through the trees, but thunder never follows. He figures it must be heat lightening but there’s this moisture to the air around him, hugging his skin, kissing his pores like dew. The mugginess reminds him of that conversation with Ally down by the lake, when she mentioned how it sometimes felt like there was this dome over the woods, cocooning in heat and humidity.

 

He glances over at Scott as they make their way through the woods, leaving their friends behind in search for the Campbell cabin, hoping to run into Ally and Charlie to try and talk them through dropping their fruitless vendetta. He understands the need for revenge no matter how wrong it actually is to try and take it. Isaac had blamed his father for his mother’s death, just like Mr. Lahey had blamed Isaac for the same thing; a deep seeded anger planted inside them both but only one of them succeeding in feeding that black hole suctioning in organs and muscles from the center of their chests.

 

But revenge can only go so far, it is a burning type of rage that’s not easily extinguished. It can eat through other emotions, disintegrate through bones and muscles, through sympathy and empathy, it can infect and consume until there’s nothing left but a hunger that’s insatiable.

 

A few drops of rain start falling as Isaac and Scott wander past a collection of large trees to see the Campbell cabin, right where Stiles had told them it would be. Apparently using their werewolf senses to scope it out themselves wasn’t good enough, if Stiles wasn’t allowed to come than he had to help somehow. His solution was a map and a very pointed set of directions. Isaac sticks his hands in his pockets as he slowly approaches the cabin with Scott at his side, keeping a sharp eye out for any yellow plants or signs of Charlie or Ally.

 

The cabin is smaller framed and has a dark, cherry wood paneling that can use a fresh coat of wood protector against the elements. It’s chipped, worn down, tired looking and dark shadows cast by the moon gives it the impression that it’s drooping forward, like a dying weeping willow tree.

 

Both of them are cautious, taking careful slow steps as they make their way onto the porch, not sure as to what or who they might find inside. Scott looks up at Isaac as he presses on the front door, which slides open easily with a long creak. When nothing happens, when no gunshots go off or arrows fly through the air, the shorter wolf shrugs at him and moves forward into the house, Isaac following close behind.

 

The tall ceiling and the run down state of the walls and frame reminds him of the Hale house as they slowly move to the right of the front door into the first room that catches their eye. While the cabin wasn’t engulfed in fire or anything the wood is dark like charcoal and from the amount of dust gathering on covered furniture and other surfaces it’s obvious that this place has been abandoned without proper care for quite some time now.

 

 The living room is a haphazard mess, there are boxes everywhere, some stacked on top of one another to form towers to the point where the space looks like a disorganized cityscape. He moves towards the back wall with Scott where he can see a ton of papers clipped, stapled and taped to the walls, nearly covering the entire long expanse and the pale blue paint that’s chipping.

 

“What is this?” Isaac asks, reaching forward to tug on a piece of paper that’s gently flapping in a breeze brought in from a cracked window to his left.

 

Scott shrugs his shoulder and moves toward Isaac as he looks at the wall. “I don’t know.”

 

It sort of reminds him of a suspect wall that he’s seen in Mr. Stilinski’s office before or on any detective show on TV. He leans closer to get a better look at what’s tacked to the wall, some papers overlapping others, some bent and ripped and yellowed from time. Notes on lycanthropy, a large map hidden with post-it notes and tacks, a calendar with lunar cycles scribbled into the dated boxes, newspaper clippings of animal attacks…

 

“Scott, I think this is some sort of information wall…”

 

The other takes down a tacked picture to look at it. “You mean like for hunters to track werewolves and stuff?”

 

Scott turns the picture over to look on the back and Isaac nods softly before glancing over at the writing that’s found there. _Elissa and Mark Campbell with Rick Sheller, 2009_

 

“That’s the lake.” Isaac says, pointing to the scenery behind the three figures as Scott turns the picture back over. “Rick must be a family friend or something.”

 

Scott sighs, tapping the photograph off the tips of his fingers. “I wish this wasn’t so personal.” 

 

“How can it not be?” He moves past him to glance out the window but there’s no sign of anyone but them. “From what Stiles told us, the Campbells crashed their car and were still alive. A werewolf, maybe a newly bitten one, sees them as an easy kill, yanks them out, finishes them off and then puts them back like the crash did the job in the first place.” Isaac runs a few fingers through his curls as he looks back at Scott. “If you ask me that would feel pretty personal.”

 

“I still don’t understand why a werewolf would place them back into the car and make it look like some sort of accident.”

 

Isaac sighs. “I don’t know…guilt maybe?” He licks his lips and clicks his tongue off the roof of his mouth before continuing with his thought. “And I hate to say it but…Ally and Charlie are sort of dignified with wanting to take revenge.”

 

The look Scott gives him makes him want to crawl into a hole but he doesn’t feel wrong about his opinion. The shorter turns to face him and approaches where he’s standing at the window, confusion present on his face and in his scent as to why Isaac would think that. He doesn’t know where Isaac’s coming from because Scott’s not the type of person to give any sort of merit to revenge. He’s never needed it and Isaac thinks that even if something were to happen to his mother at the hands of another it still wouldn’t be an option he’d consider. Revenge is below him and he won’t let it wrap around him in a vice like grip that makes him feel like he has no other choice.

 

But Isaac; Isaac understands the allure of revenge all too much.

 

“Revenge doesn’t solve anything,” Scott tells him, speaking slowly as if to a child. “Especially when they’re using it to kill innocent people!”

 

He swallows, looking away from him a moment because he hates how disappointed Scott sounds in him. “That’s why I said ‘sort of’.”

 

Scott slowly reaches out and touches his hand, like he’s not sure if he should or not. Isaac lets him even though he doesn’t necessarily welcome the tentative fingers pressing against his skin or the lifelines of his palm. He trusts Scott and of course his life before the bite is no mystery to the other but he still feels…guarded every time he has to talk about his past and his father. Its part of him that he just wants to keep hidden away, like his father slamming the lid of the freezer shut, locked, the memories and the pain concealed behind screams and bruises that have long since healed. He doesn’t want Scott to define him through all the shit he’s been through because he’s supposed to be different now even though he’s constantly reminded of something he wants to bury.

 

“I know you think you understand where they’re coming from but—”

 

Isaac shakes his head and cuts him off because, “I do.” He snaps, swallowing down the venom in his voice because it’s not meant for Scott. “I do understand.” He says, more calmly.

 

Scott raises his eyebrows at him, eyes searching troubled blue ones as his fingers slide over Isaac’s knuckles. He nods his head, encouraging him to continue because he realizes he might be wrong.

 

“So many times I was locked in that freezer and all I could think about was getting out of there and making my dad pay for what he was doing to me.” He swallows thickly and looks down; _so_ many times he had the chance to do something and never did.

 

No matter how often he thought about it while falling asleep with broken bones or bloodied fingers; he had been too weak to do something about it. But sometimes, sometimes when that same rage comes back after one of his nightmares he forgets how much he still loves his dad and remembers how the prospect of revenge tastes like blood in his mouth.

 

“For what he did to my mom.” He whispers, looking away from Scott, nearly choking on the thick waves of sympathy.

 

The other boy squeezes his hand hard. “I know.”

 

And maybe Scott does understand revenge, maybe he understands the fleeting thought of it when he recalls how his dad left his mom and how unbearably heartbroken she had been to the point where he wasn’t sure if she could pick up the pieces.

 

Isaac nods, clearing his throat, a small amount of blush blotching his cheeks from being so open. He’s never really talked about his mom before; his father ironically is a much easier topic.

 

“I’m just saying that while it might not be right, if you have the means to do it then revenge is a hard thing to pass up.”

 

And to his surprise Scott doesn’t try to disagree.

 

0o0o0o0o0

 

They finish scoping out the first floor when Scott suggests they try and find them by scent. Isaac doesn’t think it’s that bad of an idea, he remembers Ally’s scent and the strong aroma of her perfume so it shouldn’t be too difficult if they’re still close or have passed by here recently. Not to mention Allison’s flesh wound on Charlie from his brush in from her crossbow; he’ll smell like blood more than anything else and that overwhelming scent will help their wolves track immensely.  They’re about to head outside when an echoing thud sounds from bellow them. Scott looks up at Isaac to make sure he’s heard it too and he nods softly before mouthing to him ‘basement?’.

 

Scott tells him to stay where he is before he disappears to check it out and even though Isaac wants to follow him he knows waiting it out here is probably the best course of action. If Ally or Charlie makes it past Scott, he’s here to counter them and besides, that noise could turn out to be nothing. A rat (a very large rat) or something as simple as a piece of the ceiling meeting the floor. He glances up at the crumbling plaster above him; it’s not like that isn’t a legit concern.

 

His attention is diverted when he hears another noise, softer this time, coming from his right. He moves his way down the hall and into a kitchen; the room is bathed in darkness, not only physically but also because this house hasn’t had human warmth in a long time. The family that used to live here doesn’t stain the walls with light anymore, with emotions and memories and love. There are thick curtains covering the windows, the dark makes him feel enclosed, he can at least sense that just like the other rooms appliances are covered with plastic and a thick layer of filth covers everything.

 

For a moment he can’t smell anything but dust and then it hits him like it’s come out of nowhere, a strong acidic monsoon of metallic— _blood_. He whirls around but it’s too late, a close range explosion goes off against his chest and the force of it is enough to knock him back off his feet and through the paneled glass kitchen door. He lands hard against dirt and grass, vaguely aware that he’s outside now, the night sky and the bright moon speckling against the blood coating his chest. His ears are ringing and glass is digging into what feels like every part of his body.

 

The pain is enough to get him to shift and he growls as his eyes turn gold, claws digging into the earth.

 

Charlie steps out through the jagged hole in the door that he’s made with the impact of his body and sneers at him, cocking his gun. “Knew you’d show us your true face eventually.” Isaac sits up as fast as he can and launches himself forward, trying to give him less time to react.

 

For a human, Charlie’s reflexes are impressively fast. He turns his rifle so that the butt of his shotgun slams into the side of Isaac’s face, snapping his head to the right. His wounds are healing quickly, which would be great except that those shotgun pellets are wedged into his body, but at least there doesn’t seem to be any wolfsbane coursing through his system.

 

Not yet, anyways.

 

Isaac retaliates quickly, his one arm trying to knock the gun out of his hands while his other slashes three long cuts down Charlie’s cheek. He howls in pain and it’s just enough to distract him that Isaac knocks his feet out from under him, kicks the rifle from his hands and grabs him by his shirt to haul him up. He snarls into his face, seeing red as he raises his claws to rip open the shoulder wound that’s stitched up from the crossbow arrow. The wolf is howling in his chest for carnage and he’s finding the _last_ thing he seems to care about now is talking this whole thing out.

 

But before Isaac can bring his hand down a sharp pain radiates from his side and he turns to see Ally standing next to him, breathing heavily, her fingers slick with his blood as she pulls the knife out of his side. His body feels the effects before he realizes what’s happening, his knees go weak and he slumps onto the grass, his hand rushing to his side as his fingers grow numb.

 

"Wolfsbane.” He spits as Charlie stands, laughing, blood leaking into his mouth thanks to the cuts on his face from Isaac’s claws.

 

“Yeah, not so powerful now, are you?” He asks him.

 

He feels dizzy as his fingers press into his side where Ally stabbed him, his vision starts to swirl and he blinks as his wolf whines and dissipates, his human nails returning as his eyes bleed blue and his canines recede. Isaac tries to stand but Charlie kicks him hard against his ribs and he falls back into the grass, his head smacking against the dirt. His ears ring again, sounds blurring together as he squeezes his eyes shut. He can feel the wolfsbane from the blade pulse through his system with every pump of his heart, every intake of breath, it’s weakening him, it’s preventing him from healing and his cuts start to burn as a headache pounds in his temples.

 

“Now, we’ve been sort of lazy with hunting you. I admit, it hasn’t been our finest kill.” Charlie walks around him as Ally stands to the side, watching him carefully. Her hands are shaking. “We forgot to reload our supply of wolfsbane bullets so we’re limited but…as you can see, you shouldn’t worry, we still have soaked arrows and dipped knives.”

 

“Ally, you don’t have to this.” Isaac says, his voice growing stronger he looks over at her.

 

She opens her mouth to say something but Charlie is quick to reply. “She’s not doing anything she doesn’t want to do.” He argues, his voice is thick with anger that chills him to his bone. His tone somehow reminds him of his father. “Your kind _ruined_ our lives.”

 

Isaac swallows and looks up at him, wincing as his side burns against his fingers. Charlie bends down and bunches Isaac’s shirt between his fingers and yanks him up, he struggles to find the energy in himself to fight him off but his limbs feel like cinder blocks, his stomach sick as his vision swims again.

 

“You know one thing I’ve learned about werewolves?” Charlie swallows as he cocks his shotgun and positions it underneath Isaac’s chin. “That it never pays off to be a lone wolf.”

 

“Who says Isaac is alone?”

 

Relief pools in his chest cavity at the sound of Scott’s voice and Charlie lets go of his shirt, letting him slump to the ground as he turns to see another wolf transformation. Scott growls and bares his teeth and Isaac barely has enough time to relish in the pure shock on Charlie’s face at there being _two_ werewolves when he only prepared for one before Scott is pouncing on him.

 

Everything is moving far too fast and he’s not sure if that has to do with the wolfsbane coursing through his system or not…but the minute Scott tackles Charlie into the ground, Isaac uses all of his strength to yank himself up and hurl himself at Ally’s shins. His movements are jerky and his limbs are heavy but he manages to knock her to the ground. He tries to overpower her just so he can _talk_ without the likely prospect of him being stabbed again, it’s not like he actually wants to hurt her, but she’s clawing at his clothes and slamming her palms into his chest as he tries to pin her down.

 

He hears gunshots going off again, this time from a handgun, and he guesses he shouldn’t be surprised that both of them are carrying a lot more than shotguns and dipped knives. He glances over at Scott just to make sure he’s alright, the shorter wolf is far faster than he is and he’s dodging the shots as he starts to back Charlie into a corner.

 

Isaac grabs Ally’s wrists. “Ally, please, I just want to—” But she cuts him off by kicking him where it hurts, right in his side wound that’s bleeding profusely from his lack of healing. He yelps in pain, thrown off balance and back onto the ground, Ally scrambling to stand.

 

It all comes to a screeching halt when Ally pulls a gun out from the back waistband of her jeans and cocks it at him, screaming for Scott to stop. And he does—Charlie is weaponless and pinned to the side of the cabin, feet above the ground, Scott’s hand around his throat as the boy kicks his legs and claws at the vice like grip.

 

“Put him down,” Ally demands, Scott glancing at Isaac before looking back at her. Her voice is shaking as she shoots a bullet into the ground next to Isaac, making everyone jump. “Now!” She screams and as if the warning shot isn’t enough Isaac nods his head softly at Scott, telling him its okay.

 

Scott looks like he doesn’t know what to do; he has a leverage holding on to Charlie and if he lets him go he’ll have nothing. But Charlie smirks, chokes out a reply around the hold on his throat. “Those are wolfsbane bullets werewolf, I’d listen to her.”

 

He swallows and slowly lowers Charlie to the ground, the human sputtering and coughing as the grip disappears. Isaac turns onto his back, his legs bent as he looks up at Ally, swallowing the taste of blood in his mouth. His heart starts pounding hard in his chest, he knows Scott can hear it, a low whine rumbling in his throat as his fingers flex with wanting to do something.

 

“Finish him.” Charlie demands, motioning to Isaac on the ground. “Do it, Ally. _Now_.”

 

Ally looks down at Isaac and lets out a shaky breath, squeezing the gun hard. He can hear the upbeat of her pulse, her shallow breathing, her conflicted eyes looking over his broken form before her. There’s no rage there like before when he talked to her by the lake, there’s only hurt, a deep seeded ache in the center of her chest. She doesn’t want to do this but she doesn’t _not_ want to do it either at the same time. Isaac understands the confliction; he understands the hesitation and twisted hope that the pain might go away if she kills just one more werewolf.

 

He leans up slightly and she repositions the gun at his head, making him freeze.

 

 “Don’t!” Scott’s voice cuts through the air. He’s shifted back to human form, taking a step forward like he might try and do something regardless of Charlie moving to block his path. “Please, Ally, don’t do this.”

 

The amount of emotion in his voice is like a key sliding into a locked door and realization lights up Charlie’s face as he looks between Isaac and Scott. “Well, what do we have here?” He asks. “Mates.” He smiles but it’s malicious and a harsh laugh leaves his lips. “How touching.”

 

Isaac connects eyes with Scott for a brief moment before looking back up at Ally. Charlie shoves Scott forward, closer to where Ally is and kicks Isaac hard in his ribs again. Isaac buckles and turns onto his side, his entire body throbbing with a white hot pain he’s never felt before, not even when he was human and his father created cuts, bruises and broken bones. His skin and body a map of suffering and fear.

 

Scott flinches, his face screwed up in a cross between anger and distress, the soft whimpers leaving Isaac’s lips literally hurting him as they reach Scott’s ears. He’s tired of Charlie using people for his own volitions; he’s using Isaac to hurt Scott and he’s using his rage to coerce Ally into carrying out retribution with him.

 

Charlie leans closer to Scott, whispers next to his ear, his voice thick with venom.

 

“Werewolves took away our parents, now you’re going to know what it feels like to have someone you love ripped away from you.” He’s enjoying this, at least a part of him is. While it has everything to do with seeking revenge for his parents Charlie doesn’t hate the pain that he can inflict on others because it takes away from his own.

 

Isaac’s had enough; he can’t take the look on Scott’s face anymore or the upbeat tempos of everyone’s heart. He has to _do_ something before he ends up with a wolfsbane bullet wedged between his eyes.

 

“I know you don’t know the wolf that got away with killing your parents—” He starts but Charlie kicks him again, this time where Ally has stabbed him and the pain is so overpowering that he silently screams into the dirt, his blood mixing with the grass and earth.

 

“You don’t know anything.” Charlie hisses.

 

“Ally, you’ve seen the color of Isaac’s eyes,” Scott points out, speaking quickly before Charlie can intervene. He remembers the lycanthropy research lining the walls of the living room in the cabin. “You know that he’s innocent.”

 

Charlie spits blood when he talks. “ _No_ such animal.”

 

“He’s never hurt anyone.”

 

For a minute, Isaac can see that Scott’s words are really getting to her; the gun lowers ever so slightly as she looks down at him and her heartbeat starts to slow. Charlie shakes his head as Isaac slowly turns onto his back again, not having enough energy to even hold himself up on his elbows this time, his breathing heavy and ragged as his fingers tremble against his bloodied side.

 

“Which doesn’t mean that he won’t.” Charlie counters, leaning closer to Ally and repositioning her gun to aim at Isaac’s head. He shakes his head as he glares at Scott before looking down at Isaac bleeding by his feet.

 

“We knew the wolf that killed our parents.” Ally says, her voice soft and nearly blending into the passing breeze. “My parents and…they-they were all friends.”

 

Isaac swallows and looks at the gun before taking in Ally’s features. Her pale skin and angled cheekbones are covered from the shadows of the trees, the light pink blush that’s usually on her cheeks has drained from her face and her green eyes are swimming with confusion and heartache. If they knew the werewolf that killed their parents then… why are they _doing_ all of this?

 

“He was a family friend. We even called him our Uncle Rick…” She laughs but the sound is broken, like the noise of stepping on glass. The amount of heartache in her voice almost takes the air out of his lungs; it’s enough that the sensation nearly overtakes the physical pain pulsing throughout his nerves.

 

He swallows thickly and recalls that picture Scott took off the wall, the picture of their parents and someone named Rick Sheller. It explains as to why that photograph was even on the wall in the first place, it’s what started them on this hunt that apparently is never sated.

 

His fingers curl into his side a moment, some of the blood drying and sticking to his skin and the fabric of his clothes. Isaac remembers that when he passed out from this wolfsbane that Scott said he hit his head and maybe that’s why it worked its way out of his body. He’s almost hoping that he bleeds enough through the wound in his side that the wolfsbane will leave his system. He’s starting to get the feeling back into his fingers and limbs but it’s not enough, his vision is still blurred and a headache is threatening to rip his skull in half.

 

“See our parents knew Rick’s secret, tried to control him during the full moons.” Charlie says and the anger he’s so used to hearing in his voice fades for a fraction of a second and he can hear the same pain that was in Ally’s voice, the same heartache, the same despair. “They thought they could help him but he turned on them.”

 

The seemingly separate dots start to connect together in a pattern in the back of Isaac’s mind. Rick couldn’t control himself during the full moon, animalistic and primal urges taking control over anything else—he attacked Charlie and Ally’s parents, drove them to get away as quick as they could. In their haste they crashed their car and Rick had found them, doing what his wolf knew how to do best…and only felt regret after he had finished. That’s why the Campbell’s had been placed back into their car and that’s why Ally was talking to him back at Stiles’ cabin like she’d know exactly what to do to the person who was responsible for killing her parents.

 

“You killed him.” Isaac says softly, moving to lean on his one elbow as he looked into Ally’s eyes. There’s guilt there, he can smell it, it seeps into his pores and claws at his ribcage.

 

“Of _course_ we killed him.” Charlie snaps, seeming to knock Ally out of her wounded expression. She swallows and squeezes the gun in her hands again; the metal has to be digging into sore skin at this point. “Our parents should have made the same damn decision. Rick was _dangerous_ and you’re no different. You’ll turn on people you care about too; your family, your friends it’s only a matter of time.”

 

He clamps his mouth closed about his parents not even being in that equation…but the comment about his friends, about the people he cares about? That’s not exactly a far stretch. When he thinks about what Charlie is trying to say to convince Ally’s trigger finger he almost understands what he’s trying to point out. Isaac thinks Allison might actually understand where Charlie’s coming from, seeing as how she was trying to convince Scott of the same thing not too long ago.

 

Her words bleed into his mind and echo against his eardrums like he’s hearing it all over again. _“He’s unpredictable and irrational…he can be violent without thinking it through first…What if he accidently goes after your mom? He could hurt her.”_

Isaac glances up at Scott, knows he’s thinking about the exact same thing, about how one mistake can turn him into the monster they both know he could be. Scott swallows and shakes his head firmly, because _no—_ Allison and Charlie, they don’t know Isaac like he does.

Charlie takes a step forward but he makes the mistake of taking his eyes of Scott and before Isaac realizes what’s going on Scott has charged at him again, successfully knocking him over and into a nearby tree. He can tell Scott’s using all of his strength not to hurt him and he knows he doesn’t have much time, one out of two things will happen and Scott will either win or lose. Scott is the strongest person he knows, for many reasons, and he knows he doesn’t want to hurt Charlie unless he has to. Isaac reaches forward and stands up straight, wobbling slightly on his legs as the wolfsbane claws throughout his system.

Ally makes a noise and repositions her gun, getting ready to shoot—“Don’t.” Isaac tries again. “Listen to me. I heard the way you talked about your mother down by the lake, I know how much you loved her…heartbeats don’t lie about that sort of thing.”

She swallows and shakes her head, not sure she wants to listen to this or not but her arms lower ever so slightly.

“You can’t keep doing this, it’s not about revenge anymore,” Isaac says softly, taking a tentative step towards her, arms outstretched to convey that he means no harm. He blocks out everything that isn’t Ally’s upbeat thumps of her heart, concentrates on it. “It’s about rage, it’s about your brother’s anger…and if you don’t do something about it, it’s going to consume you.”

Ally glances to her left to where Charlie is struggling against Scott; he’s losing and screaming for her to shoot. The gun lowers even more.

Isaac nods his head as Scott pins Charlie to the ground, his arms fall slightly as he looks at the gun and then to Ally. She turns her head and her eyes connect with his, wide green pools filled with confused tears and the effort to hold onto something that’s made her whole. Or at least feel like it—he can literally see the anger fade from the evergreen, leaving a small metaphorical hole in the center of her chest. But it’s not like before, the wound has started to heal, she’ll be okay eventually.

“Your mom wouldn’t want this for you.” He said softly as her hands fall to her sides, a few tears leaking down her cheeks.

Isaac closes the space between them and gently touches her arm, letting a small breath out through his nose. His knees are shaking, on the verge of collapsing out and under him but he stands his ground as best as he can as Scott leans up off of Charlie, thinking the initial threat is over.

It happens far too fast for him to stop it, the fury seeping off of Charlie is enough to choke him. It tastes like charcoal in the back of his throat, smells like a fire that’s been burning far too long. Charlie jerks up from his position on the ground and rushes toward Ally and the gun. There’s a brief struggle as he slams his sister into the dirt, an echoing gunshot and suddenly it feels like everything slows—heartbeats and breaths, seconds and molecules. He runs to where Charlie is on top of Ally and rolls his body off of her, the amount of blood on her chest is pooled into her clothing, it stings the back of his nose with its syrupy metallic scent.

Scott rushes over and kneels down next to Isaac and Ally, glancing over Charlie before reaching a hand over to gently rest on his neck to feel his pulse. The taller werewolf watches him, crouches next to Ally as she sits up, her hands jerkily holding onto the gun still between her fingertips. He reaches forward and takes the gun from her, swallowing as Scott turns to look at them.

“He’s…”

Isaac nearly topples over as Ally turns and buries her face into his shoulder, shaking his entire body with how heavily she’s breathing, his arms feebly reach out and wrap around her as he looks down at Charlie’s body.

 Scott places a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezes before shaking his head. “Guess you were right,” He says softly. “Can’t save everyone.”

He swallows and turns his head to kiss at Scott’s wrist before closing his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The color of a werewolves eyes does not seem public knowledge in terms of Teen Wolf but I went very Supernatural with this stuff and figured, in terms of research Ally and Charlie had done, finding out that sort of stuff could be capable in lore, or myths and etc.


	13. Trueno

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Thanks to everyone who gave this story a chance, who left a review and who left kudos. I really enjoyed writing these angels and hope to do so again in the future! Thanks again everyone. 
> 
> This chapter title is spanish for Thunder, which ties right back in to the first chapter title. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

 

Ally’s quiet after the initial shock of what happened with her brother…or maybe she’s fallen silent _because_ of the shock, he’s not sure. She’s pinned to his chest for a long time, her fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. They both smell like blood and dirt, like sweat and gunpowder, and he knows better than to try and pull away before she’s ready. So he waits, sits quietly as Scott moves from them into the house to retrieve a sheet from one of the pieces of the furniture to place over Charlie’s lifeless form.

When she does pull back she’s completely quiet, her heartbeat and the sound of her lungs taking air in and out is even muted. Her face has tear tracks on it and her cheek has the imprint from the fabric of his t-shirt. He can only guess on what she’s exactly feeling, for one because it’s probably a mixture and not one identifiable thing and two, his werewolf senses are all fucked up from the wolfsbane. While he’s got the feeling back in his hands and his stomach isn’t rolling like he’s stuck on a boat, his headache reseeding to a dull pinch, his heightened senses are still weakened significantly.

Scott kneels next to him again, his fingers tugging gently at the bottom of his shirt. “Let me see.”

Isaac winces, trying to tease him even though his hands are shaking. “Of all the times you ask me to take my shirt off…”

Scott smiles softly but it’s at least affectionate, glancing down at the jagged line in his side from Ally’s blade. The cut is angry looking, red and ripped skin, giving off a faint yellow vapor as he bleeds.

“Careful,” Isaac swallows as Scott’s fingers move towards the blood. “Don’t touch.”

He nods. “Right,” He bites his lip in concentration. “I’m going to call Deaton.” Scott stands and digs his cell phone out of his pocket, moving towards a space that he can pick up on reception through the trees.

“Are you going to be okay?” Isaac’s head snaps to his right, Ally’s voice sounding just above a whisper. It’s distant and her eyes are still glued to her brother’s body but it’s _something_. He doesn’t respond at first and that seems to pull her even further out of her catatonic-like state because she turns her head to look at him. “I mean…” She looks down at the stab wound on his side. “the wolfsbane…”

Isaac nods even though he’s not sure; Scott is rushing to explain what happened to Deaton a few feet away from them. He can’t quite make out the words but his skin isn’t stinging anymore. He might be healing quicker than he thought but he wonders how long it’ll take for his senses to return completely.

“My…boyfriend,” He says slowly, testing the word out on his tongue as he looks over at Scott before turning his attention back to Ally. “He’s calling someone to make sure…he’s sort of a…mystic vet?” He explains in _layman's terms_.

That earns him the smallest of smiles before it fades from her face. “So my brother,” She almost chokes on the word. “He was telling the truth about…you and Scott? You’re mates?”

Isaac feels the slightest bit of blush fill up his cheeks. If that gets back to Stiles he’ll _never_ hear the end of it. “I guess if that’s what you want to call it.”

Ally shakes her head and brings her knees up to her chest, looking down at her shoes before running a shaking hand through her hair. When Scott brought out the sheet to cover Charlie he also managed to snag some hand towels that were in a few of the kitchen drawers. She’s removed as much blood as she could from her hands, without counting the few splotches that will always be there and will never come off—drilled in her skin as a reminder to haunt her, but it’s still caked and dry around her fingernails and between the spaces on her knuckles.

There are a few silent moments between them, Isaac watching Scott pace back and forth as he talks to Deaton. Not that this wolfsbane thing isn’t important, because his vision is still a bit blurry in the corners and his ears keep ringing every so often, but he’s also worried about where this all leaves Ally. Does she have any other family? What is she going to do with Charlie? She has to understand that what has happened wasn’t her fault, that they were both led here because Charlie couldn’t let go of his anger. That the path probably would have ended just as self-destructive even if a gun hadn’t gone off by accident.

That Ally could have been consumed right along with him.

“Ally—”

“I’m sorry.” She cuts him off, her voice muffled by the fabric of her jeans, her mouth pressed into her knee. Isaac starts to shake his head because honestly, she doesn’t have to apologize. In the end, she wanted to make the right decision and that matters a lot more than he thinks she realizes.

He takes a different route, knowing that this in the back of her mind anyways, staining her just like the dried blood on her hands. “What happened to your brother wasn’t your fault. No matter what you could have done…you probably couldn’t have stopped it.”

Ally lets out a long breath out of her mouth and she nods, agreeing with him. Her throat closes around her words as she speaks and tears gather in her eyes as she stares at the white sheet, “He wasn’t my brother anymore, you know? He hadn’t been for a long time. I lost him the same day I lost my parents.” She sniffles, rubbing her nose with the back of her wrist. “I thought…I just thought there was a part of him still left in there.”

Upon listening to her Isaac remembers a conversation he had with his brother, a memory locked away and stored on a shelf in the back of his mind, it has dust on it, he can’t remember it completely; it’s fragmented.

_He’s in Camden’s room, on his bed, his brother’s sheets smell like cologne and cigarette smoke, October sun is streaming in through the window and creates dust particles spinning in its light above his knees. He’s sitting cross legged, Camden is rushing around his room, he’s packing,_

_he’s leaving._

_He’s got a matching bruise on his face like Isaac has one on his left cheekbone._

_“Dad’s not the same anymore.” He says and Camden stops shoving shirts into a duffel bag and stares at him._

_“Mom’s dead.”_

_Isaac swallows and thumbs a comic book that’s sitting on his lap. “Will you read this to me?”_

_He’s twelve, he doesn’t need any help reading anything, but his brother’s voice reminds him of his mother’s and how she used to read to him every night._

_“You can be dead on the inside and still walk around, you know?” Is Camden’s reply before licking his lips and lighting a cigarette right in his bedroom without even opening the window._

_His dad will smell that later and beat him for it._

_Isaac doesn’t understand what Camden’s trying to say until he puts the pieces together with bloodied fingers from scratching at walls when he sleeps in the freezer that night._

“I know,” Isaac says softly, his voice catching in the slightest. He clears his throat and nods his head. “Trust me.”

“I didn’t want this to happen,” She shakes her head, letting her knees fall back to the ground. “He just wouldn’t stop and…he was the only family I had left.”

He reaches his hand over and squeezes hers, runs his thumb over her knuckles because he _knows_ —he knows what it’s like to not want to give up on someone because who they used to be is more important than who they’ve turned into. He knows because he had never wanted to give up on his father even though he didn’t deserve the unwavering support Isaac was willing to give him.

Isaac looks up as Scott starts back over, sticking his phone into his back pocket. “Deaton said you should be fine, you’re bleeding it out. But uh…we should still keep an eye on it, if you don’t start feeling better within a few hours…”

“I’ll be okay.” He assures him, nodding his head as he lets go of Ally’s hand.

Scott swallows, not entirely convinced until he sees it with his own eyes and rubs the back of his neck. He looks down at Ally before moving to help Isaac stand. He wraps his arm around his torso, trying to avoid the wound and the blood as much as he can. Isaac’s legs buckle and he makes a soft noise as he leans his body into Scott’s but the shorter easily adapts to the weight.

“What are you going to do?” He asks her but Isaac’s not sure if Scott means with Charlie’s body or in a bigger picture sense.

She stands and wipes her hands off her jeans, biting her lower lip before clearing her throat. “I uhm, I can call a family friend. My mom has an address book in one of those boxes in the living room. From what I can remember he’s a hunter, I think that’s who they called when they wanted help on how to contain Rick…” She trails off, licking her lips. “He’s fortunately also in law enforcement so I think he can help.”

“We can wait it out with you, if you want.” Scott offers, shifting Isaac into his body.

Ally smiles softly and shakes her head. “I’m on my own now…I think I should start getting used to it.” She sticks her hands in her pockets and clears her throat. “Besides, Isaac has pellets in his chest from when Charlie shot him…I suggest you try and get those out before the wolfsbane fades and he heals completely.”

Isaac groans. “Great, ought to be a lot of fun playing ‘find the shotgun pellets’.”

“We’ll let Allison do it.” Scott jokes, earning a dry sarcastic laugh out of the taller boy.

He checks one last time to make sure that Ally doesn’t want them to stay with her until she meets up with some help but she insists they go; which is probably the better choice. Knowing their luck they’ll have to deal with _another_ hunter trying to kill them and Isaac’s pretty sure he can’t take another round of ‘whack a werewolf’ with wolfsbane. He gives her his number to keep in touch and so he can check in on her and as Scott turns away, helping him back towards the cabin, he swears he pick up on a light flowery scent coming from Ally, stuck in the breeze. A release.

Ease.

He has no idea whether he’s picking up on it right but the faintest of smiles Scott throws in his direction fills up his chest with hope.

0o0o0o0

As it turns out, ironically, Allison is the one who has to remove the pellets from his chest when they get back to the Stilinski Cabin. Scott can’t touch his blood because it’s still wafting out of his body with the lightest of yellow mists from the Wolfsbane and Stiles looks like he’s about to vomit at even the prospect of going _near_ him let alone touch him. Lydia just sort of crosses her arms over her chest and gives him this look that says she’s not touching Isaac’s body unless it has to do with foreplay.

So that leaves Allison.

 Scott is frustrated he can’t help; he stands by the whole time, holding Isaac’s hand and taking his pain away every so often when Isaac whimpers and squeezes him hard. He speaks through his teeth the entire time as he tells the group what happened at the Campbell cabin and silence overtakes all of them as Allison glances up from pulling pellets from Isaac’s chest and Stiles glances at Lydia.

“Almost done.” Allison whispers at Isaac and he nods softly, leaning his head back against the arm of the couch as he winces when she starts to dig into his chest again with tweezers.

 Luckily a lot of pellets hadn’t managed to burrow in too deep but pulling out eight and counting from one’s chest isn’t exactly a good time. He lets out a long breath and squeezes Scott’s hand, glancing over at him as Scott puts his other hand on top of the one he already has wound around Isaac’s fingers and sighs. His veins are suddenly soaked with black and he pants softly as the pain dissipates, his eyes fluttering closed at the sensation.

“What about Ally?” Stiles asks, glancing back and forth between Scott and Isaac as Allison finishes up and sticks a washcloth into a bowl of water to wipe the blood from Isaac’s chest.

Scott swallows. “She didn’t want us to stay, we offered but…it’s something she has to do on her own.” He runs his thumb over Isaac’s knuckles. “She’s going to call someone to help with…Charlie.”

“I just mean, she’s completely alone. Her parents and her brother are dead.” He shakes his head. “I can’t even imagine coming back from something like that.”

Stiles doesn’t realize what he’s said until after he’s said it, Scott’s eyes widening slightly before looking at Isaac and it dawns on Stilinski’s face a few minutes too late because oh, Ally’s not the only one who’s ever lost both of her parents and her brother.

But Isaac just smiles softly as he opens his eyes, looks at Scott, squeezes his hand again before looking up at Stiles. “You’d be surprised what you can come back from.”

Stiles clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck as Scott smiles softly at Isaac, leaning down to brush his lips over his forehead. The action is sudden and surprising to him all at the same time, it’s so new and public and he should probably _prevent_ the really wide grin that wants to spread across his face when Scott pulls back.

“Well then, I don’t know about any of you, but I am not spending one more day in this cabin.”

Lydia lets a long breath out of her nose. “Me neither, we should drive to a motel.”

Stiles snaps his finger at the idea. “As long as Lahey doesn’t bleed all over my backseat I’m down.”

Isaac rolls his eyes and sits up a little, looking down at Allison’s handy work and gently taking the washcloth from her with a small smile and a ‘thank you’.

“He’s already healing.” Allison says, standing up to brush her hands off her jeans.

“So it’s settled,” Scott says, letting go of Isaac’s hand to clap his hands together. “Gather and pack your things, we’re on the road within the hour.”

0o0o0o0o

They clean the cabin up as best as they can. There’s sort of a missing chunk of wood to the top of the banister and a hole in the wall (that they may or may not have covered up with a picture frame from one of the bathrooms) that Stiles will have to explain to his father at some point but the dresser that was in front of the door in one of the bedrooms is moved back into its place. They also straighten up the living room, remove the blood soaked gauze and bullet pellets, wipe down the kitchen and pack up their things.

Scott and Isaac are outside near the jeep first, putting bags into the trunk. Isaac’s gotten a shower and put on some clean clothes, his chest is completely healed but the stab wound from Ally’s wolfsbane dipped knife is still open and red. It’s not bleeding anymore, which is a good sign, but Allison had taken time and care to put a large gauze bandaid over the area. He’s not sure if werewolves can get infections but he’s not chancing anything.

He leans against the side of the jeep as Scott yawns, rubbing a hand over his face as he stuffs one of Lydia’s suitcases into the back. The sun is starting to peak through the clouds and trees, reflecting on the lake and make the water sparkle. He wishes they could stay for one more day, really make this sort of long weekend vacation count in terms of relaxing and forgetting their troubles.  The last twenty-four hours has felt like seventy-two and the last thing he finds himself wanting to do is go back to Beacon Hills and deal with all the crap that they tried to leave behind.

Isaac reaches over and wraps an arm around Scott’s waist as the other continues to rub his eyes, letting out a soft tired noise as he leans into Isaac’s chest. He burrows his face in his shoulder, Isaac running a long hand up and down his spine, pausing to rub circles between his vertebras. He fits perfectly under his chin and he presses his lips and nose into Scott’s dark hair and breathes him in for a long moment. They stand there without talking, soaking in one another’s warmth and firmness that their bodies have to offer.

For a minute Scott’s breathing is so deep and even that Isaac almost thinks he’s fallen asleep standing up in his arms, like some sort of werewolf flamingo but then Scott opens his mouth and talks, his breath skittering against his neck and through the fabric of his clothes.

“Need coffee.”

Isaac chuckles and continues to rub his back. “We’ll stop at a gas station and I’ll get you some.”

He grumbles and closes his eyes, turns his face into his collar bone. “You feel any better?”

“I told you, I’m healing. Don’t worry about me.”

Scott pulls back and smiles that crooked smile that lights up his brown eyes. Isaac pointedly ignores the butterfly wings fluttering against his heart. “I always worry about you.”

Isaac rolls his eyes and playfully tugs on a piece of Scott’s hair that’s dipping past his forehead. “You always worry about everyone.” He counters.

He hums, leans further into Isaac’s body as his arms settle around Scott’s waist. “Especially you.”

Isaac smiles slowly, knows exactly what he’s trying for and lowers his head to press his lips against Scott’s. The kiss builds the longer their lips are connected, Isaac’s arms squeeze around Scott’s waist as Scott’s one hand bunches up the fabric of his shirt while the other rests along the side of his neck. He catches Scott’s lower lip in his mouth and gently kneads on it with his teeth, earning a small moan out him. Isaac smirks and pulls back after a moment, shaking his head while placing kisses along Scott’s jaw.

“You called me your boyfriend,” He freezes, stomach flipping when he pulls back. Scott raises his eyebrows. “To Ally?”

Isaac clicks his tongue off the roof of his mouth and shifts against the jeep. “Oh…you heard that?” And then he rolls his eyes because honestly, dumbass, Scott’s not the one with fucked up senses thanks to wolfsbane, of course he heard it.

Scott chuckles and nods his head, running his nose over the bridge of Isaac’s.

“You are as long as you want to be.” He whispers, running his hand through Scott’s hair and resting his palm along the back of his neck. His fingers play with a few whisps of hair kissing the collar of his shirt.

He scrunches his nose, making Isaac smirk. “I guess. I mean, it doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice if you’re going to be walking around calling me your boyfriend.”

Isaac playfully glares at him and pokes Scott in his side where he knows his most ticklish spot is, right under his ribs…and Scott squirms, gasps at the sensation and laughs, trying to swat Isaac’s hand away but almost powerless against him as he keeps doing it.

Finally he stops and Scott lets his body collapse slightly against him, panting a little before closing his eyes and nosing his shoulder.

“Jerk.”

He hums, kissing the back of Scott’s neck. “Whatever.”

They pull away, just a little bit, as Lydia and Stiles come out of the front door followed by Allison and her duffel bag. Stiles rolls his eyes as he sees the pair and points at them.

“Enough, you two look like puppies.” But there’s enough of amusement in his voice to not take him seriously and Scott just smiles into Isaac’s shoulder before pulling back completely to pile into the jeep for their long ride home.

0o0o0o0o0

There is a silent agreement amongst the jeep to take the longer route home. Isaac wants to speak up and say something about how he’s grateful that they’re trying to avoid the tunnel so he doesn’t have another claustrophobia induced panic attack but no one’s one in the mood to talk much anyways. He offers to drive most of the time so people can sleep; he isn’t as tired as much as the others are. He thinks it might have something to do with the wolfsbane finally flushing from his system, his full strength returning in every sense of the word.

Besides, if they take turns driving they won’t have to stop at a motel to spend money they don’t have to sleep and spend extra time off the road. Scott had called his mother about an hour ago telling her they’d be getting home a bit later than usual, which was fine with her. Her only request was to make it home safe, tell Stiles to fill up the tank of his jeep properly and to ruffle Isaac’s hair. Scott had kissed his cheek instead and Isaac blushed for three long awful minutes afterwards.

When he glances back into the rearview mirror pulling into a gas station, Stiles is snoring against the window and Allison has fallen asleep on Scott who is pressed against the other door. For once in this entire trip he’s surprised when he doesn’t feel something like jealousy curl up in his belly, disturbing his wolf. He waits for it to come, anticipates it—but nothing happens. His eyes flicker back and forth to the two of them, Scott curled up in his lacrosse hoodie that he’d found in the bottom of Isaac’s bag that he’d packed (though he has to admit, he sort of likes the idea of his last name advertised on Scott’s back) while Allison rests against his side with her head on his shoulder. Her hair has fallen into her face and flutters a little everytime she lets a breath out of her nose.

Lydia has been the only one up and next to him as he drove the miles to the gas station. They didn’t really talk much, mostly just played a silent war with the radio, Isaac changing the station every time Lydia found a song she liked and she doing the same when he found one he could bounce his thumbs off the steering wheel to. They discuss college briefly, even though it feels eons away, wonders what both of them will do after they graduate. Isaac sort of wants to become a vet; he’s already talked to Deaton about maybe picking up some shifts at the clinic. Ever since that day he came in and took the pain away from that dog he can’t get the life choice out of his head. If Lydia has a plan for after college and her career she doesn’t share but he’s sure she has one, she doesn’t seem like the type to not have a five year plan. He hadn’t pushed her to share, he’s was just glad for the company and the lapse in silence as he drove.

Isaac doesn’t move to wake anyone as he gets out of the jeep, glancing back at Scott once again before nodding to Lydia that he’s going into the convenience store. There’s something—he can’t quite put his finger on it or can’t draw the right word from his brain to rest on his tongue—almost comforting to the way Scott is curled up against the door with Allison against him. It’s weird, he’s not happy that she’s ended up there on accident, that the turns of the jeep had moved her body to rest against her ex-boyfriends but he’s not upset about it either. Because he and Isaac have given up on gray, they’ve moved into the cream color of white and Scott is wearing his hoodie and he _smells_ like Isaac and his wolf revels in the sensation of possessiveness because for the first time in a long time Scott really feels like _his_.

So Allison can curl up against Scott in her sleep all she wants because it doesn’t change that proud fact beating like a drum behind his sternum, sinking into the valves of his heart, running in the veins of his wolf.

Isaac runs his fingers through his curls before turning to go into the store, needing to grab a coffee for Scott and pay for a tank of gas at the pump. His eyes glaze over the selection of coffee, scrunching his nose as the dark roast too incredibly burnt for him and fills up a cup of vanilla bean. He adds sugar and cream like Scott likes with a sprinkle of cinnamon on top before closing the lid and glances up to look out the window. Stiles is falling, literally, out of the jeep when Lydia opens his door and Scott and Allison are talking to one another as they pull apart and get out to stretch. He watches with interest as Scott raises his arms above his head and the hoodie, slightly bigger on him because of Isaac’s long form, barely reveals a hint of skin at his hipbones.

He clears his throat and looks down at the cup, stealing a sip out of it as he runs his thumb along the lid and thinks about the dark caramel skin of Scott’s hipbones. He knows now is probably not the best time to contemplate running his teeth over the same area, peppering kisses as he goes, but now that the thought is _there_ it won’t go away. Like a really annoying song worming through your brain and echoing in your ears for days. Isaac thinks about sex a lot, it’s kind of unavoidable seeing as how he’s a teenage boy. He’s been thinking about having sex with _Scott_ though a lot more recently. Sex in general is a new concept to him, he’s never really been with anyone other than Scott—there have been flings, sure. Especially after he was turned and Erica and him had been on overdrive in terms of sensory overload; they had done things together but it still wasn’t sex. Scott, he’s sure, is not a stranger when it comes to sex and he has no doubt he was a perfect gentleman every time he was in bed with Allison.

But still…sex with _guys_ ; that had to be a new thing for the both of them.

Isaac’s pretty sure they’re not ready for that yet anyway, they’ve both just managed to accept their relationship in front of their friends and they still have to tell Scott’s mom and…he swallows, Derek. But still, that doesn’t stop him from thinking about it…rather constantly when given the momentum.

 His ears perk when he hears his name as Allison and Scott get closer to the glass door, Scott reaching forward to open it for her to walk through. She nods her head and bites her lower lip, leaning to kiss Scott’s cheek before moving towards the bathroom.

Isaac swallows and watches her go as Scott sighs and approaches him, sticking his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. He gently tugs on the right string that’s hanging out of the hood, letting it rest against the white lettering on Scott’s chest that spells out BEACON HILLS LACROSSE before tilting his head to the side.

“What was that about?”

Scott’s hair is mussed up from when he fell asleep and Isaac’s fingers twitch to straighten out the locks. “She apologized for what she said about you at the lake, you know…about you being dangerous and a threat to my mom?”

“Trust me, I remember it well.”

“Well that’s what you get for eavesdropping.” Scott points out, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as Isaac rolls his eyes. “She was just trying to look out for me.”

“Because she’s still in love with you.” Isaac counters, turning to look at the selection of snacks behind him. He waits for him to deny it but Scott doesn’t. Instead he comes up behind him and wraps his arms around Isaac’s waist, burying his face in the back of his shoulder for a moment.

Scott breathes him in for a long moment before reaching past him to grab a bag of Fritos. “Even if she still was, it wouldn’t matter. I’m kind of into someone else.” Isaac looks down at him and the shorter smiles, nuzzling his nose into the side of his jaw. “Kind of _really_ into him.”

He smiles slowly and shakes his head. “Anyone I know?”

“Just this really tall and hot lacrosse player,” He pulls away and points to the LAHEY spelled out across his back before grabbing the cup of coffee in Isaac’s hand. “You’ve probably seen him play a few times.”

Isaac smirks and watches Scott sip from the cup, fingering a bag of M&Ms with interest. He grabs the bag along with the Fritos and walks up to the counter to pay for everything. Isaac fishes out a twenty from his wallet and sets it down on the counter, remembering to mention the gas at pump seven, as Scott hovers, taking slow sips from his coffee. Allison comes out of the restroom and glides past them, giving them both a small smile before disappearing outside.

Scott grabs onto Isaac’s hand as they leave. “What was the kiss about?” He asks, can’t help it.

The other wolf smiles softly into the lid of his cup before taking a slow sip, looking up at Isaac as they walk back to the jeep.

“Saying goodbye.”

0o0o0o0o0

They make one more stop to stretch their legs before driving the final miles home, they’re about two hours away from Beacon Hills and Isaac has a crick in his lower back from the driver’s seat. Scott’s fingers are pressing against the muscle, massaging him gently as he watches Stiles and Allison argue about who should drive. Night is falling upon them again and Isaac watches a streetlight flicker on and off down the road, bugs buzzing and bouncing off of the heated surface only to return to it seconds later. He’s glad that they’ve opted to just drive straight through in shifts, the ride home seemingly a lot quicker and smoother than up to the cabin.

He’s about to just settle the argument brewing in front of him with that he’ll just drive the rest of the way but Allison shakes her head at Stiles and grabs the keys from Isaac’s fingers.

“I’m driving.”

Stiles swipes them right back and dangles them in front of her face. “No, you’re not.”

She stands and puts her hands on her hips, looking towards the trunk of the jeep. “A portable crossbow says I am.”

He scoffs and laughs at the same time, looking over at Isaac and Scott like he’s sure that Allison isn’t being serious…but he’s not greeted with the most assured expressions. Scott raises his eyebrows and lets a long breath out of his mouth before shrugging his shoulder and Isaac rubs the back of his neck.

“I don’t think any of us are beyond shooting you at this point, Stiles.” He points out, just wanting to be _home_ already.

Allison smiles and crosses her arms over her chest before extending her hand, giving Stiles a pointed look…who suddenly looks very nervous as he drops the keys into her open palm. “Well…alright then.”

Scott looks more than pleased at the prospect of curling up against Isaac in the back seat and nearly yanks him into the jeep and closes the door behind them as everyone else settles in. He works his tall frame into the seat, positioning himself against the car door before opening his arm for Scott to lean into his side. Scott doesn’t hesitate; he wraps his arm around his waist and nuzzles his face into his shoulder, breathing him in. He rests his arm long his shoulders, squeezing the shorter into his chest before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Scott is kind of something he’d like to call a cuddle whore. It doesn’t matter whether they’re home alone watching a movie on the couch or in his room on his bed studying for science, or when they’re in the back of Stiles’ jeep as Allison starts the engine and pulls them back onto the road. Scott will find his way to close the gap, to work his way into his side, to press his face into his shoulder or neck or curls depending on the angle. Not that he’s complaining, he sort of likes it in a not so secret way, his heart speeds up as Scott’s nose brushes against his pulse point. He runs his fingers through the shorter’s hair and licks his lips before letting out a long sigh.

“I’m not going to be able to sleep if your pulse keeps doing the conga in your neck.” Scott murmurs into his skin, tickling a little as his breath speckles against his pores.

“Then stop doing that.” Isaac whispers back, smiling down at him before brushing his lips along the bridge of his nose.

Scott looks over at Stiles who’s grumbling against the other window beside them, Lydia and Allison chatting in the front seat as one of them finds something to listen to on the radio before repositioning his head on Isaac’s collarbone.

“Do you think Ally is doing okay?”

Isaac shrugs his shoulder, unsure, his cell phone burning a hole through his pocket as he thinks about how it still hasn’t received any messages from the girl letting them know what happened.

He shifts against his chest, leaning up a little so he can kiss the side of Isaac’s mouth to gain his attention. “You know what happened with Charlie wasn’t your fault, right?”

“I know, I just wish I could have talked him down like Ally. Or…done something, I don’t know.”

Scott traces circles into Isaac’s thigh with his fingers, his human nails grazing the fabric of his jeans. “You saved her.” ‘In more ways than one’ is unspoken, hanging in the air between them and the amount of pride emulating from Scott warms his entire body, like a giant blanket settling and wrapping up his limbs.

Isaac smiles, feeling blush heat up the back of his neck under his collar. He dips his head forward, brushing his nose into the other’s hair as Scott repositions himself against his chest to get more comfortable. He closes his eyes again, his thumb working circles into Isaac’s side and as he drifts off his movements get slower and slower until they’re practically nonexistent.

He leans down and kisses the spot above Scott’s ear before whispering, “You know you saved me.”

His words go unanswered but that doesn’t make them any less true.

0o00o0o

They’re home for a week before Scott declares while brushing his teeth that he wants to tell his mom about them, or more like, he _has_ to or he’s going to explode. And that’s a direct quote. Isaac just sort of smirks and spits the paste out of his mouth and into the sink as Scott gurgles before doing the same and hands him the hand towel when he’s finished with it.

“Are you sure?” Isaac asks because they’ve sort of been down this road before (rather literally, thanks to that road trip to the cabin) and he wants to make sure this is actually what Scott wants. Because it’s not like he can take it back after it’s all said and done.

Scott nods incessantly. “She found out that I was a werewolf the wrong way, I want this to be done right. I want to tell her, not have her find out about it second hand.”

Isaac smiles softly and nods his head after him as Scott passes to go into his bedroom to change out of his pajamas; ever since they got back from the cabin Scott has been more open about their relationship with one another, especially at school. It’s a nice change compared to before they left, how public they are with touches, hand holding and small kisses between classes and lunch. Ironically, they can be more open at school than they are at home, and that’s what Isaac thinks is really getting to the other werewolf. Home is a place where he shouldn’t have to hide behind walls and closed doors, he wants to make this really official and his heart beats a mile a minute just thinking about it.

Scott wants to tell his mom. He wants to tell the person who is allowing Isaac to stay here and live and eat their food and use their washing machine and drink their coffee and—

Scott must hear the beats speed up because he glances up at him as he stands at his dresser taking a few shirts out. “You okay?”

Isaac clears his throat and nods, goes to sit on the other’s bed to watch him a moment. “I uhm, I just…” He rubs the back of his neck and Scott moves closer, stands at the foot of the bed and works on a navy blue t-shirt. Isaac has to regulate his breathing anyways because wow, does he look good in blue.

“I’m just thinking about…what if your mom doesn’t like it and she—” It call comes out in a rush. “Kicks me out I have no idea where I could go, if I got to Derek’s smelling like you he’s going to know I’ve been living here and that I’ve shifted alphas and…”

He’s thrown off by Scott laughing. He’s not laughing at him, per say, he’s just sort of chuckling, the sound breathy as he shakes his head and sits down next to the taller teen, putting a hand on his thigh.

“Whoa, just…slow down.” He rubs a circle into his knee. “My mom is _not_ going to kick you out.” Isaac doesn’t feel convinced; he’s not used to good things staying constant in his life. He expects the other shoe to drop; he just doesn’t know when it’s going to happen. And that for some reason makes it worse.

Scott turns his body to face him and takes both of his hands in his and squeezes. “Isaac, I’m serious.” He tilts his head to get the other’s attention, who is trying to avoid Scott’s eyes. “You know my mom, while she might be a little surprised…seeing as how she has no idea that I like guys, that’s not going to force her to make you go anywhere.”

He swallows and bites his lower lip, nodding his head gently.

“I mean it, I won’t let that happen.”

Isaac lets out a dry laugh that’s filled with relief, looking up at Scott and finally finding those warm coffee colored brown eyes with his own blue ones. “My dad…he would kill me.” He says softly, completely serious. “If he found out about us. He’d shove me in that freezer and never let me out again.”

His voice must catch because Scott leans forward and hooks an arm around his shoulders, bringing him into his chest in a bone crushing hug. He tenses for several moments before eventually melting into the other’s embrace, his eyes slipping closed as he breathes in Scott’s cologne and soap. He feels his fingers press into the top of his spine, working their way down his back until he completely relaxes, his hand moving to work itself into the curls of his hair before pulling away.

“You don’t have to worry about something like that ever happening anymore.” He rests his forehead against Isaac’s. “No one is going to touch you like that again.”

Isaac can hear the firmness in Scott’s voice; can hear the alpha tone even though he’s not trying to give some sort of command. But a shiver nonetheless works its way down his vertebras and he believes him.

“Okay.” He says softly, because he’s not sure what else to say.

Scott sighs and pulls back, his one hand falling to hold onto one of his as the other plays with some curls near his ear. “Can I ask you something?” Isaac looks up at him and nods. “What would…your mom think? Of this?” He motions to the space between the both of them with the hand that’s holding onto his fingers.

He swallows, looking down as Scott’s thumb runs over his knuckles. They’ve never really talked about his mom before. It’s implied that his father ruined her life; drove her to drink and smoke too much and eventually die of a disease that could have been prevented.

“My mom died when I was little but…” He remembers how her perfume smells and the way her hair would shine when the sunlight peaked through the white lace window curtains of her bedroom. “She’d probably just smile this…proud smile that told me I was doing something right and call me bumble bee.”

Scott smiles. “Bumble bee?”

Isaac laughs softly and bites his lower lip. “Yeah,” He feels blush creep onto his cheeks. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”

Scott’s glad he told him, he can feel the respect that Isaac’s shared something so personal with him in his touches as he leans forward and kisses his blush stained cheekbone. He swallows and turns his head, hooks a finger under the other’s chin and brings him closer to kiss him in earnest. Their lips slowly mesh together as their heartbeats pick up and Scott’s happiness distinctly smells like fresh pancakes as it mixes with his own.

0o0o0o0o

They decide to make dinner that night for Melissa to tell her about them…or rather, Isaac decides to make dinner and Scott sits on the counter and watches him cook. It’s not like it’s anything special, they don’t have a large amount of time to make anything from scratch because Mrs. McCall will be done with her hospital shift in a half hour so box pasta and jarred spaghetti sauce seems like the way to go.

“What’s your favorite thing to cook?” Scott asks, kicking his legs a little as he watches Isaac stir the pasta into the boiling water on the stove.

He shrugs his shoulder and turns to look at him. “Depends, I guess. I love making…desserts and stuff. Like pie or cupcakes.”

Scott groans like he might pass out from a sugar induced coma that hasn’t even happened yet. “Dude, _cupcakes_. Make me cupcakes.”

Isaac chuckles and sets the spoon down next to the pot, turning to look at him. “What kind of cupcakes?”

“Any kind,” Scott hums. “A cupcake is a cupcake.”

He moves to the counter where Scott is sitting to open the jar of tomato sauce, unscrewing the lid easily before looking up at him. “I can make these chocolate ones with cream cheese icing.”

“Stop talking.” He puts a hand over his midsection. “My stomach is going to start eating itself. I’m ravenous.” Scott jumps down from the counter and goes to the fridge, reaching inside for a can of soda.

“Oh, is that the word of the day Mr. SAT?” He flicks an uncooked penne noodle at Scott’s back and snorts when it hits him in the back of the neck, causing the other’s shoulders to flinch.

 Scott rubs the back of his neck and sets the can down, closing the fridge door with his foot. He playfully glares at his boyfriend and picks up the noodle, catapulting it back at him but Isaac easily catches it in the air before it can land on its target.

“Yeah,” Scott slides up closer and hooks his fingers through Isaac’s belt hoops, tugging him into his body before crowding him back into the counter. “It’s can be used like an adjective,” He kisses Isaac’s neck and his head falls back slightly. “an adverb,” Scott nips at his throat, his teeth grazing his Adam’s apple. Isaac shivers. “ _Or_ a noun.”

Scott leans up on his toes and presses his body into Isaac’s as he presses their lips together in a fast, heated kiss, his hands traveling along the taller’s shoulders and squeezing the muscles behind his collar bone. His fingers quickly rake through his curls as Isaac’s hands settle on Scott’s waist, his thumbs dipping into the waistband of his jeans and yanking him closer so that their semi-hard cocks brush through the fabric. A soft moan sounds deep in Scott’s throat, making Isaac’s stomach flutter—and they nearly forget all about dinner and miss the sound of the front door opening.

“Boys,” Scott’s eyes shoot open and they fly apart so quickly that Isaac nearly knocks the open jar of spaghetti sauce all over the floor. His mouth hangs ajar in surprise as he turns to see Melissa standing in the doorway, a sly smile on her face as she glances between the two of them, not looking surprised in the slightest. “If you’re going to make out in the kitchen at least don’t do it with the stove on.”

She moves to head down the hall, her voice carrying and vibrating with an amused tone against the wall.

“You don’t need an excuse to burn something in the kitchen, Scott!”

Scott groans and Isaac nearly smiles at the dark maroon blush covering his boyfriend’s cheekbones, lightly touching it with his fingertips as the shorter buries his face in his shoulder to hide his embarrassment.

0o0o0o0

Dinner is quiet and more awkward than Isaac could have ever imagined it could be. The dinners at the McCall house were always something he looked forward to. Warm smiles and lots of interesting stories from Melissa about the hospital and asking them how school’s going and Scott going into detail about a movie trailer he saw on TV or something Stiles is up to that his mom just shakes his head at and looks displeased. But tonight it’s silent, a few comments about dinner and how Melissa’s shift went and then Isaac is standing to help clear away the dishes.

“Dinner was good, thank you Isaac for doing that. You know you didn’t have to.”

“Scott helped.” Isaac offers instead, sharing a small smile with Melissa as they both know that ‘Scott helping’ consists of stirring stuff and trying not to destroy anything in the kitchen.

“I’m sure he did,” She smiles and shakes her head when Isaac tries to take her plate. “Why don’t you sit a minute, I’m assuming this dinner was for a reason.”

Scott clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck. “Well it was but…how long…you just…” He motions to the hallway where she had caught them in the kitchen. “You already knew.”

Isaac picks up on waves of disappointment but it’s not coming from Mrs. McCall. He looks over at Scott who has his head bowed, using his fork to push around noodles on his plate. Scott feels bad for not telling his mother sooner, before she could find out. That had been the whole point of this meal, so his mom could find out about him and Isaac so it didn’t look like he was intentionally trying to keep something from her. He reaches his hand under the table to rest gently on Scott’s knee, squeezing before massaging his thumb into the outside of his thigh, trying to calm quickened heartbeats and the bitter taste of how bad he feels in the back of his throat.

“Scott, honey,” Melissa’s voice is warm and coated with honey. “You’re not exactly the most discreet person when it comes to how you feel about someone. When you were with Allison it was like it was written all over your face, how happy you were.”

Scott glances at Isaac and he gives him a small smile, squeezing his knee again as Melissa leans back in her chair and looks between the two of them.

“Your breakup with Allison was hard on you…but then Isaac started living here and you didn’t seem so broken up about it like before. You were happy; I knew something must have changed.”

“I am,” He smiles softly and the disappointment disappears, replaced with relief and hesitant happiness. “But still, I mean…that shift could have been anything,” Scott points out, leaning forward a little and placing his hand on top of Isaac’s that’s still resting on his knee. “How did you know I liked Isaac?”

Melissa just laughs and shrugs her one shoulder. “Mom powers.” She smirks and gives them this look like it’s something they’ll never understand. And then she also leans forward, a teasing glint in her eye. “And let’s just say that wasn’t the first time I caught you making out, okay?”

Scott’s eyes widen to the point where Isaac thinks they’re going to pop out of his head and a choked noise leaves his throat as that blush returns to caramel colored skin of his cheeks.

“Isaac,” He turns to look at Mrs. McCall, swallowing as he nods his head that he’s paying attention. “This seems to be a no brainer to me but…you’re still welcome here.”

Now its Scott’s turn to squeeze Isaac’s hand as relief completely floods his system. It’s not that hearing it from Scott wasn’t a reassurance but listening to the exact same words leave Melissa’s mouth is extremely comforting.

“But I hope you both know I’m still enforcing separate sleeping arrangements.”

“But mom…” Scott whines, the sound doing something it really _shouldn’t_ right now beneath Isaac’s boxer briefs.

“I have to be a responsible parent, Scott; don’t make me break out the chore wheel.” She points at her son and his mouth snaps closed like magic. Isaac hides a chuckle in his napkin. “Separate sleeping arrangements,” She repeats. “Unless something happens in the middle of the night, understood?”

Scott’s not the only one who’s heard Isaac scream from vicious nightmares and because of that the deal Melissa is offering seems fair enough. He’s not out on the street with her discovery that her son is not only dating another werewolf but also someone he lives with and when she’s at work the two of them can share a bed as often as they want.

It sounds more than fair actually and Isaac is nodding his head as Scott taps his fingers off the table in silent agreement.

“Good, think you two can handle cleaning the kitchen up?”

They both nod their heads and Melissa smiles as she stands, moving across the room to kiss Scott’s cheek and ruffle Isaac’s hair before going upstairs.

“I think that went well.” Isaac comments, smirking at the still dark pink blush on Scott’s cheeks.

Scott rolls his eyes but a soft amused smile tugs at the ends of his mouth before he throws a noodle covered in sauce at Isaac’s nose.

O0o0o0o0

They stay up till two watching really awful horror movies with the volume down low, pausing every so often to work on Biology homework for next week so they’re not bombarded by the time Sunday rolls around. He’s just glad that tomorrow (technically today) is Saturday because he just wants to sleep in past seven, regardless of the amazing breakfasts that Mrs. McCall always puts together when they have to get up for school. When Isaac yawns for the seventh time trying to explain the balance between some of the elements on the periodic table, Scott declares it’s time for bed and pushes the books and notes aside to kiss him square on the mouth.

He returns it halfheartedly, smiling sleepily at him before collecting his things to go to the guest bedroom. Scott wasn’t exactly making leaving any easier and he knows if hadn’t tried to get out of there while he could he just wouldn’t have left. While Mrs. McCall is a sweetheart and incredibly warm spirited, he’s seen her angry and scold Scott a few times and he does _not_ want that wrath turned on either of them because they couldn’t follow her ‘separate bedroom’ rule.

Isaac slowly closes his bedroom door with his foot and drops his books near his book bag that’s sitting by his closet. He takes off his shirt and lets it fall to the ground near his nightstand before crawling into bed, lying on his stomach as he pushes his arms underneath his pillow and easily falls asleep to the sound of Scott’s heartbeat next door.

0o0o0o0o

He’s not sure how long he’s managed to fall asleep but he’s awoken to the sound of his door slowly creaking open and soft padded footsteps making their way to his bed after the door closes again. Isaac’s usually not that much of a heavy sleeper compared to Scott and he can tell instantly that it’s him by the carefully placed footsteps, the smell of his skin and the gentle thumps of his heartbeat. Something must be wrong for him to be awake and sneaking into his room.

“Scott?” He asks, his voice is thick with sleep as he sits up and rubs his one eye with a closed fist. “What’s wrong?” Scott says nothing as he crawls into bed with him, the taller shifting to make room for his body. “Are you okay?”

Scott hums and melts into the side of his body, his arm sliding across his naked torso. “I am now.”

Isaac rolls his eyes and tries to shift, pushes his body into Scott’s like he might throw him out of bed. “What are you doing? If your mom catches you in here…”

“She said if something happened in the middle of the night then she’d be okay with it.” He breathes against Isaac’s throat. “Well…I had a nightmare.”

He hesitates a moment, not sure if Scott is telling the truth or not. He hones in on the beats of his heart, tentatively runs his fingers through the other’s hair as Scott’s leg sneaks in-between his own, angling their bodies closer. Scott squeezes Isaac around his waist and sighs; peppering light kisses along his collar bone as he brings the blankets up over their shoulders.

“There were clowns, a lot of them Isaac and we just…we really shouldn’t have watched _IT_ before going to bed, okay?” Isaac doesn’t mean to laugh but a few chuckles escape his lips as Scott’s fingers dig into his side. “It’s not funny! Clowns can kill people.”

He brushes his lips over Scott’s forehead. “You can’t stay in here.”

Scott huffs, tickling Isaac’s side a little before relenting. “Are you really going to kick me out of bed when I came to you all…freaked out and vulnerable?” He asks him but Isaac can already tell that this is going somewhere past the point that Scott’s just afraid to return to his dark room all by himself.

He licks his lips as he feels Scott’s knee graze against his cock, the boy’s hips sliding into his own as his mouth nips at his throat. He glares into the dark but it’s really meant for the cock tease with a smile like sunshine who’s currently starting to create hickies on his neck.

“I hate you.”

Scott grinds forward and groans softly as he feels Isaac start to harden against him. “Trust me, you do not.” He smirks.

Isaac grunts softly as Scott switches his position, moving his body to settle on top of him. He’s pushing back the covers, kissing down Isaac’s chest and nipping at skin with his teeth as his thumbs circle and press and knead his skin along his sides.

“Man, your mom.” He hisses, and wow okay, that’s really not what he should be thinking about right now. But it’s not like that sort of responsibility isn’t slipping further out of his grasp the longer Scott’s lips stay in contact with his skin.

The shorter hesitates as his nose dips into his belly button, looking up at him with a slow grin, his lips a darker shade of pink from suckling at along his hipbones and under his ribcage.

“I guess you’ll just have to figure out a way to be really, _really_ quiet.”

Isaac really wants to protest, honestly he does, but he finds that all the words he’s going to say slip under his tongue and hide behind a soft moan that makes its way out of his lips as Scott starts kissing around his stomach.

He bites his lip as Scott encourages him to lean up and he does so with shaky legs, the muscles in his thighs burning in anticipation as he spreads his knees after the shorter yanks his sweats and boxers down to his ankles. He runs his hand through Scott’s hair, stomach fluttering as he feels a slow speckle of heat brush against his hardening cock.

He waits—but nothing happens and he leans up on his elbows to look down at Scott as his brown eyes meet his blue ones.

“Can I…?” Scott trails off, swallowing, his lips pressing a kiss into the soft skin of his inner thigh near his knee.

Isaac looks at him a long moment, confused as to what’s he’s asking permission because he’s only ever done that once. The first time they did stuff together Scott made sure everything he did was okay with Isaac before he did it. Sure, they had only really done stuff with hands and lips but it had still been new territory for the both of them and… _oh_ , oh. Scott’s asking permission because he wants to do something _new_.

He swallows thickly, not sure what Scott wants to do exactly but nods his head regardless. “I trust you.” Is all Isaac says and that seems to be what Scott wants to hear because he grins and surges forward, pressing their lips together in a fast and heated kiss.

Fingers press into the waist band of Scott’s sweatpants and he tugs the material down before fisting the fabric of his shirt. The unspoken words between the clicks of their teeth and the meshing of their tongues, short puffs of air between their mouths convey that the shorter still has too many clothes on. He leans up on Isaac’s form, working his shirt and pants off as quickly as he can, throwing them to the ground to join their mouths again as Scott’s hands squeeze his shoulders. Isaac gasps as their cocks brush, his member hard and already leaking against his stomach. His hands wander and grab at Scott’s ass, massaging his skin between his fingers as Scott moves his lips to much more desired location at the nape of his neck. His teeth sink in, branding the area with little red marks of ownership that unfortunately won’t stay for long.

Isaac freezes when he hears a clutter to his right, for a heart attack of a moment he thinks Mrs. McCall might be awake but when he turns his head he sees Scott opening the drawer of his nightstand. And oh. He’s not sure if he’s more embarrassed or amused that Scott knows there’s a small bottle of lube in there.

“How did you…”

Now it’s Scott’s turn to blush. “Uh, well…I mean, _werewolf_ hearing.”

“Have you been eavesdropping on me, McCall?” Isaac grinds up into him, making the other’s eyes snap shut as a low growl builds in his chest.

Isaac reaches down and slides his palm against Scott’s cock pressed into his stomach, pre-cum dripping onto torso.

Scott bites his lip hard and rolls his hips down into Isaac’s hand. “Maybe I like hearing you fuck yourself, _Lahey_.”

He nearly _chokes_ on the sound coming out of his mouth and Scott has to rush and put a hand to his mouth to silence the noise, smiling wildly down at him as he rests his forehead against his own.

“Shh,” He pulls his hand back and kisses the tips of Isaac’s nose with rather smitten smirk and slides down his body, uncapping the lube.

Scents suddenly spike up in the room, rushing towards Isaac all at once with an incredibly pungency that he has to scrunch his nose. He picks up hints of Scott’s arousal and the pure excitement over the intimacy and exploring something new but there’s also a heavy amount of nervousness rolling off the shorter’s shoulders. He breathes out, keeps his own heartbeat in check in terms of being anxious himself and gathers the sheets between his fingers as he spreads his legs a little more and waits.

His nervousness is drowned out when he feels Scott’s mouth kissing along the inside of his thighs, his nose brushing the bottom of his balls before the tip of his cock is encased in the damp heat of the other’s mouth. His hips roll on their own volition, Scott’s hands stilling his movements as he pulls back with a silent pop.

He groans softly, runs a hand over his face as he hears a generous amount of lube squeezed onto Scott’s fingers. It takes a few very long, very _agonizing_ moments, Scott’s probably being a fucking gentleman and rolling the substance between his fingertips so it’s not cold when he touches him. Isaac’s eyes nearly roll back into his head as Scott takes him deep into his mouth and his fingers press ever so tentatively right _there_ at his opening.

He whimpers, presses against Scott’s fingers, urges him to continue as his tongue slides down the vein on the underside of his cock. His fingers fist his hair and tugs gently, provoking him to press his fingers harder against Isaac’s ring of muscles, his legs opening wider at the sensation.

Isaac knows that they really don’t have a lot of time to do this, that even if they heard Melissa coming a mile away they still wouldn’t have time to pull apart and get dressed. So he closes his eyes and settles into the feeling of Scott pressing against him, the feeling of his mouth working its way onto his cock again as his one finger slowly pushes into him.

He adjusts easily and he can tell Scott is waiting—waiting, _waitingwaiting_ to make sure Isaac is okay before he continues, his mouth gently blowing against the tip of his cock. Isaac glances down at him, their eyes connect briefly; Scott’s eyes are lidded, his pupils blown, his lips are red and wet from sucking on his cock and he can tell he’s slowly swiveling his hips into the mattress for any type of friction. He runs his fingers through his hair, tugs gently, biting his lip as his hips slide down. He wants more.

Scott smirks softly and pulls his finger out and in a few more times before adding a second finger, turning his wrist slowly so the back of his hand is level with the bed. When he starts moving his hand, Isaac’s back nearly arches off the bed and built up groan crawls up his throat. He’s never felt anything like this before, even when doing it to himself, the sensation of Scott’s fingers gently curling inside of him as his mouth works on the tip of his cock—holy _fuck._ He’s not going to last much longer. He’s either going to cum or moan his name so loud that he gives them away.

“Fuck _Scott_ —” tumbles out of his mouth as quiet as it can possibly be and Scott hollows out his cheeks as he finds a quickened pace, every thrust of Isaac’s hips into his hand making the tips of Scott’s fingers brush against a bundle of nerves. 

Scott can tell that he’s close, he leans his body into the thrust of his fingers, teases at a sweet spot that makes Isaac want to unravel, a bundle of frayed wires and fuck he’s so _soclose_. One more twist of the other’s wrist and snap of his hips, Scott’s lips sucking the head of his cock and his back arches as he cums so hard that he nearly sees pure white.

He has to bite his hand to keep the noise inside of himself, little pathetic whimpers making their way past his lips as he pants hard, his orgasm riding out in waves. He pulls his hand back after a moment and yanks Scott up against him, reaches down to grip the other’s hard on not too gently at all. Scott hisses and moans softly against Isaac’s mouth, the taller moaning at the taste of himself on his lips and tongue as he kisses him deep and strokes him against his stomach.

His movements are jerky and quick but Scott doesn’t need a lot of motivation to cum hard all over Isaac’s lower chest, murmuring his name into his mouth as they kiss and nip at one another’s lips. The air settles around them, the room smells like sex and sweat and the sweetness of their endorphins encircling their bodies. He can hear the grandfather clock slowly tick downstairs, the water dripping into the sink in the bathroom, Scott’s heartbeat returning to normal as he breathes deep and slow, Melissa’s heartbeat as she sleeps soundly and the walls of the house settling.

Isaac swallows, kisses Scott’s lower lip, cups the side of his face and rests his forehead against his for a long moment. He can feel how shaky the other’s thighs are, his muscles barely holding him up as he hovers over Isaac’s body, not wanting to mesh their sweat slicked skin and cum that’s streaked around his belly button together.

“Let’s clean up.” He says gently and Scott nods, carefully moving out of bed to rush over to the spare bathroom connected to the room. He throws a hand towel at Isaac, who catches it easily, and begins to pat the sweat off his face.

They wipe down their bodies, get dressed and strip the bed. Isaac throws the dirty sheets in his laundry while Scott puts an extra set of clean ones on that he’s pulled from hall closet. Isaac gets into bed the  moment the sheets are in place and hikes the comforter up over his shoulder, smiling softly as his eyes close and he feels Scott’s weight push into the mattress as he crawls in next to him. He sighs and moves towards the other wolf, shifting down to push his face into his neck. There’s a musky scent wafting to his nose as he presses a kiss into his shoulder, Scott humming gently as he wraps an arm around him to draw him closer.

“Was that…was it okay?” Scott asks a moment later, his voice vibrating against the shell of his ear.

Isaac yawns, fighting to stay awake. He smirks though at Scott’s hesitant question, nods his head into his neck. “I’m pretty sure there are stains on your sheets to answer your question.”

Scott smiles and rolls his eyes. “We’ll sneak them into the wash tomorrow when my mom’s at work.”

“Oh, shit, your mom—” Isaac mutters, lips moving quickly against the other’s skin. “You know you can’t stay here.” But his words are fading quickly, Scott squeezing him into his warm body as his hand travels up and down his back.

He snorts. “I know, I know. Five more minutes.”

“Four minutes and fifty-three seconds, McCall.”

But Isaac’s asleep before he counts the time out.

0o0o0o

A clap of thunder awakens Isaac from a deep sleep. The first thing he notices is that it’s raining and the thunder is loud in its wake, wind whipping the trees gently back and forth as lightening lights up the guest bedroom through the window. The second is that his body is ridiculously tangled up with Scott’s; their legs are pretzeled between one another’s, Scott’s arm is wrapped around his back up under his shirt and Isaac has his face pressed into the other’s chest. He can feel him taking in long breaths, in and out, the air puffing out of his lungs and warmly brushing through the curls in his hair.

He could seriously get used to waking up with Scott curled around him.

His heart nearly jumps into his throat, however, when he hears the door crack open. Fuck. Mrs. McCall—he obviously fell asleep before he had made sure Scott went back to his room. And now here they were, clearly breaking a rule she had set into motion for a reason. He freezes, his entire body tenses up and he swears that the rapid beating of his heart is going to wake up Scott—he waits for her to start yelling but—

nothing comes.

He slowly opens his eyes and glances towards the door; Melissa is…she’s smiling. She sighs, shakes her head and quietly closes the door.

The sound rouses Scott a little but he merely makes a shuffling noise and burrows his nose into Isaac’s hair, breathing deep before falling back into the rhythm of sleep.

Well, they’re _definitely_ getting into trouble for that later.

But for now Scott’s warm body and the seductive pull of sleep rests heavily on his eyelids. He shuts them again, pushes his face into the crook of Scott’s neck, breathes deep and pushes the thought away.

He falls back asleep against Scott, listening to the echoing thunder and the rain patter against the window.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading, any comments are welcome :3


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